Price of Fear
by dferveiro
Summary: Based on the movie Tears of the Sun. A naive humanitarian observes the carnage at the village, and with nowhere else to go, follows the American SEALs to the safest place for her.
1. The Village

a/n: Honestly, I just couldn't get this out of my head. I saw "Tears of the Sun" last week on TV, and really liked it. You might not have seen it, or might not be a huge fan, but to sum up the film, a group of Navy SEALs go into Nigeria, which had a recent coup, to retrieve US citizens from danger. Along the way, the SEALs find they can't abandon the Nigerians who will be hunted and threatened with ethnic cleansing from the new rebel government.

I wrote this in first person, which was a challenge for me considering I generally don't like it, but hopefully it fits. I felt it had to be first person. Oh well. Send me feedback, if you please. Thanks!

-0-0-0-

Chapter 1: The Village

I watched. Nothing more, but watched, as the people who I cared for as friends and neighbors were riddled with bullets. Those were the lucky ones. And as they died, I was riddled with guilt. Because I sat, watching up in the hills, waiting for it to be over.

If I'd thought it through, I might have done something different. But the rebels came fast, and once they showed up, I had no chance. At least that's what I told myself, as I hid amongst green ferns and trees. As soon as I heard the first screams, I ran.

I came to Nigeria more than a month ago. My parents thought I was crazy, and really, I don't fault them for that.

"_Jane, going to Africa isn't a fresh start. It's suicide,"_ my dad had said. My reasons, he acknowledged were noble, but that wasn't enough. 'A humanitarian' was what I wanted to be. But looking down on the carnage below, I doubted I could ever be selfless or really make any difference.

The rebel soldiers pulled a woman from a hut. I couldn't tell who it was, not from this distance. My eyes were never that good. But I easily heard the shot that ended her screams. A string of gunfire followed, and I quickly looked to see where it was coming from.

A mother and two children were the targets. I shut my eyes, bowing over to the ground, and trying not to scream in mourning. I knew that woman. I took care of her kids when she was working in the fields. A whimper escaped my lips, and I slapped my hand over my mouth.

I kept my head at the ground, cradling myself beneath the foliage, as if that would make things better. It didn't. All I saw in my mind was a face with each shot I heard. I tried not to think who was dying next, and even more I tried not to think of how I was failing them like a coward in these hills above the carnage.

-0-0-0-

Horrific screams echoed over the village and in the little valley it was situated in. I heard a man screaming, over and over again. He was terrified. Against my better judgment and for the first time in a few hours, I looked.

It was Nmumbu, someone who didn't really trust me because I was American, but nice otherwise. He was bound by a tire, of all things. Two soldiers stood over him, and poured gasoline on him. One soldiers held a lighter. _No, no. Please, not this._ I'm not sure if I was hoping I wouldn't hear the screams, or that Nmumbu wouldn't suffer. I shut my eyes again.

And suddenly his screams stopped. Instead there was weeping. I frowned and peered over the leaves that blocked me from view.

The two soldiers were down. Dead, it looked like, but . . .

Something moved in the corner of my vision. I tensed, ready to run, but the movement was further away, down by the village. Then figures emerged from the greenery.

Soldiers. But I could see the difference in what they wore. In the way they moved. _Americans._ I looked back to Nmumbu, who looked around wildly for why he wasn't dead. He quieted when he saw the Americans, but they didn't stop to free him. _No, don't stop._ Nmumbu wasn't the only one still alive. _Please, save the others._ Save them, because I hadn't done a thing.

Uncurling myself from my cowering posture, I sat up and watched the Americans move with complete precision. They split in two groups. One moved to the far side where I couldn't see them, and the other neared the side closest to me. I ducked down into the leaves more. I'm not sure why.

The Americans had guns drawn. Rifles, semi-automatics, I'm not sure what else. I'm trying to be a humanitarian, not an Army recruit. They moved single-file to the source of more screaming. It was a woman screaming, and I knew what was happening. My heart sped up in the anticipation of the Americans' interference.

I didn't hear any shots from that group, but I imagined they used silencers. Or maybe the screams were louder. I just stared, waiting for something good to happen. Good is a relative thing, so I guess I just hoped to see—

I gasped. A woman was coming out, alive and clinging to one of the Americans. The relief I felt was probably nothing to hers. She was sobbing, but the American said something to quiet her. He left her, and followed the others further into the village.

My breath was short in coming. Hut after hut, they moved, checking each one. Where shouts, violence, and screams were heard, the Americans moved in faster. I willed them to succeed, to save as many as possible.

Their whole raid on the rebels in the village lasted maybe 10 minutes. The rest, before the Americans came . . . I think it was morning when they came. It had to have been, because I decided to go for a walk, just around the perimeter of the village. I did it every morning, and today it saved me.

Me, but no one else. _I _hadn't saved anyone.

More shouting made me forget about that briefly. A rebel ran from the village. He glanced once over his shoulder, realizing he wasn't alone. From his size, he couldn't have been more than 18 years old. He ran full out, right towards the hills.

Towards me.

I ducked beneath the foliage. He kept running, and I could hear the ferns and grass under his feet. He was getting closer.

_What do I do?_ I think he was armed, but that helped him, not me. I glanced to either side of me, thinking maybe I could hide—I've done really well at that so far—but then I saw his feet.

He looked to be 40 feet away. I closed my eyes and hoped he'd just step over me.

And then, he stopped. Five seconds later, his body dropped to the earth and I nearly shrieked. His eyes were open, staring at me, past me, ahead at what was to be his escape. I never heard the shot that marked the back of his head.

My stomach twisted then. I nearly threw up.

Trying to see past the mangled mess of his body, I saw one American soldier staring up at the hills, watching for movement. I froze, not wanting the rebel's same fate, even though I wasn't one of them.

The American nearly looked right at me, but he was searching with his eyes. Eventually, he turned away, back to the village. I remembered to breathe at that point. He'd saved me, I figured.

As I watched the Americans gather the few survivors, I kept looking to that one soldier. He had a mohawk of sorts, which I thought was funny on a white guy, but the seriousness in his stance said he wasn't to be taken lightly. None of the soldiers were. They were the real deal.

He seemed to hide any feelings for the survivors or the dead. I saw one soldier in a bandana kneeling over some of the villagers and another soldier privately emptying his stomach behind a tree. A bald-headed soldier noticed that, but said nothing. I think everyone felt this was no time for teasing, even if it might lighten the mood.

At this point I recognized a few survivors. Nmumbu washed off the gasoline on him. I saw others, but in all maybe fifteen people. The village held 80 this morning.

"Fifteen people," I mutter to myself. _Sixteen._ If I counted myself. I looked for anyone I was close to, but couldn't discern my best friends. I did see the form of one friend, a young woman named Maria, of all things (even as a native Nigerian).

She wasn't moving.

Suddenly I felt so tired. Emotionally I was drained, and physically, well, I just didn't feel I could move. Something inside of me refused to, because I didn't want to go down to the survivors. I could see myself trotting in, and everyone glaring at me. _"Where were you?"_ they'd ask, but I just couldn't see myself answering.

So I laid down where I was, just yards away from a dead rebel, and a short run from the saviors of the village.


	2. Moving On

Chapter 2: Moving On

They were moving now. There were more people, coming down from another hill. It looked like they were already with the soldiers. The group, larger with my village's survivors, headed back into the hills.

I sat up, debating what I should do. There was nothing but death in the village. And I was in the middle of the jungles of Nigeria, alone, and without my passport, but not that it would do me any good. I doubt the new government would honor my citizenship anyway. I couldn't bring myself to go rifling through the village to dig it out. I didn't want to see anything there now.

I coughed. If I stayed, I'd die. I wasn't completely stupid. Rebels, new regime, ethnic cleansing—I was in the middle of it all, and I doubt the dead rebels in the village were the only ones nearby.

Staying wasn't an option. But my conscience wouldn't allow me to just up and join the Americans and survivors. I was pretty good at navigating my way around in a city, but the jungles were all green, and beyond the hills here, I had no idea which way was up.

"Where would I even go?" I said aloud to the foliage. The closest embassy was days away by foot, and I didn't know how to get there. Cameroon was closer, but—

I glanced to the group moving up the hills.

"That's where they're going," I whispered to myself. And that was really the only place I could go.

I swallowed. The plan wasn't perfect in my head, but it was a start. I crawled to the dead rebel, ignoring the blood and . . . other parts. A pistol was holstered on his leg, and a rifle in his hands. I held my breath, blocking the scent of blood and sweat on him. I yanked the pistol from its holster. There was a knife in a sheath, and I undid his belt to take it as well. I noticed a canteen too.

_Might as well. _ I grabbed it. Shakily, I stood. I draped the canteen by its strap over my shoulders, and then strapped the knife and sheath to the waist of my cargo pants. The gun I stuffed into a pocket.

And then I thought of all the horror stories of people accidentally shooting themselves with their own guns. Hurriedly, I pulled the gun out, and checked the safety. It was off, I think. I wasn't really sure, so I clicked it to be on. Then I pointed at the trees, and pulled the trigger.

No shot. I let myself breathe a little easier, and repocketed the gun.

The group was out of sight now. Afraid I'd be lost, I ran towards them. My movements were still shaky, but I tried to stay quiet.

I would just follow them, lagging behind and out of sight. Hopefully, I'd make it to Cameroon with no one the wiser, and would be able to avoid anyone I knew and make it to a transport to some safer republic.

-0-0-0-

It didn't take long for me to catch up. I nearly gave myself away, jogging through the brush. A group of survivors didn't really move quickly.

I was tempted to just give up my lone journey, but the picture of myself cowering in the hills during a massacre came to mind.

I stayed back.

Your mind starts to drift when you're alone, and mine was no exception. I thought of college. I finished earlier this year, graduating in social work. It's kind of a hypothetical field, or at least seemed that way to me. I didn't really know what to do, how to really use that degree. But my original idea was to help people.

Looking back on it now, I think an English major would have trained me just as well. But I'm starting to realize the deficiencies are my own, and not really the training. I think the carnage at the village proved that enough.

Nigeria was an adventure, a chance to prove to myself I could make it. I'd been doing well, and I felt I did connect with the people here—most of them anyway. I was still green at it all though. So far I'd only been an extra set of hands at the village. There was a humanitarian there, an English woman, but she traveled to the city last week for supplies.

I wondered if she was still alive.

A crack of wood jolted me from my thoughts. I froze, watching ahead.

"LT," I heard a voice.

Slowly, I moved behind a tree. I sank to the base of it.

"Checking for stragglers," the voice said. There was a tension to his voice that suggested 'stragglers' weren't welcome.

His footsteps were off in another direction, heading away from me, so I peered around the tree.

It was a light-haired American, blonde, but you could tell he was hiding it with camouflage paint. His rifle was raised to his eyes, hunting. _For me._ I ducked behind the tree and sat tight.

"Red!" I glanced around the tree again, this time from a snake-like position beneath the plants around me. There stood an African American soldier.

"Yeah," Red said. He glanced over the jungle, over my head, and turned back to the group. "Thought I heard something, Zee."

'Zee,' as he was called, looked over the way they'd come, missing my presence too.

"We have a no-go on air support," Zee said.

Red swore. "Still?"

Zee nodded. "Better pick up the pace."

With that, Red half-jogged to a cluster of survivors. I saw one of them was Nmumbu. I was glad he was alive, even if he didn't trust me.

I found that even though the pace was slow enough, it was tiring to dodge being discovered. Red had stopped and looked over the way they'd come three times, and each time I stopped, dropped, and hid.

It worked.

-0-0-0-

When night came, I realized this wasn't a great idea. I couldn't see well at night, and the fear of losing the group completely was unnerving. It made me stay closer, but yet I could only be so close.

Red, who seemed to be the designated caboose, kept searching. I knew at night he'd have the advantage.

Especially when I tripped over a tree root and fell.

I nearly swore aloud. I stayed down, trying not to think about what else might be in the jungle, and waited until I heard the consistent movements ahead. I didn't alert anyone, luckily.

I waited five minutes before I got up. I convinced myself if I didn't, I'd have a swarm of American soldiers shooting me in the dark. I doubted I looked like the enemy, but that wasn't comforting.

It started raining next as I was playing catch-up. Rain and darkness were two of a kind, and a bad combination at that. I looked ahead where the group had gone, but there was no movement to see. I could see leaves moving, but it was the weight of the rain rustling them. And the noise was disorienting.

The panic overrode my sense of fear of being discovered. I started to run after the group.

And after running five minutes, I realized I wasn't catching up. Somehow, I'd lost them. You'd think a group of people wandering through the jungle would leave an obvious trail, but to my untrained eyes and senses, they were ants in a cornfield. I ran harder, moving in what I hoped was the right direction. The stupid in me just figured I would find something eventually if I tried hard enough.

It might have been 20 minutes or an hour later when I slipped on the muddy ground, and fell on top of some plants. Something jabbed against my side, and I cried out.

I couldn't kid myself. I was out of my element. Everything my parents had said before I left came to me then, the warnings, the concern about the unstable area, being in the jungle, bizarre diseases, and just being a simple 20-something girl in the middle of uncivilized land.

I closed my eyes and tilted my chin to the sky. The rain streaked down my face, rolling into my mouth. I'd finished my canteen hours ago. I had the presence of mind to unscrew the cap on the canteen and hope for the rain to fill it. I wasn't sure how well that would work, but I did it anyway.

And then I let myself rest.

-0-0-0-

a/n: And there's that chapter. Please review--I realize there isn't a separate section for this movie, but hopefully someone out there likes this.

Below is a preview of chapter 3:

-0-

The human body is amazing. Just a slight noise when you sleep, and your mind can call you to consciousness.

Of course, when I woke up and heard the rustling of brush nearby, I almost freaked out. And as I moved, I had to bite my tongue to stay silent. My fall did something to my side, and it was acting up now. I couldn't see either, but that was the darkness, not my eyes. The rain had stopped.

I stared out into the dark foliage. I had no idea what was out there. I had no idea where I was anymore.

Trying to steady my breath, I slid over the ground. I felt a dip in the ground, and maneuvered myself under a fallen tree.

Whatever was out there suddenly stopped. I heard it turn towards me.

I was being hunted.


	3. The Hunted

Chapter Three: The Hunted

The human body is amazing. Just a slight noise when you sleep, and your mind can call you to consciousness.

Of course, when I woke and heard the rustling of brush nearby, I almost freaked out. And as I moved, I had to bite my tongue to stay silent. My fall did something to my side, and it was acting up now. I couldn't see either, but that was the darkness, not my eyes. The rain had stopped.

A rustling sound came from the plants. I stared out into the dark foliage. I had no idea what was out there. I had no idea where I was anymore.

Trying to steady my breath, I slid over the ground. I felt a dip in the earth, and maneuvered myself under a fallen tree.

Whatever was out there suddenly stopped. I heard it turn towards me.

I was being hunted.

I felt fear when I was watching the massacre at the village. That didn't compare to what I felt now. I've heard that the anticipation of pain is worse than actual pain, and with the pain and fear blurred here, that anticipation was terrifying me. I thought of all the creatures in the jungle, men and animal alike, and added into the mix rebels with knifes and no morals.

It moved towards me. I actually saw a shadow in the slim slivers of moonlight.

_Stay calm! Outsmart this!_ This, it, whatever. I stayed crouched to the ground and moved behind the fallen log. I hoped it would shield me. My side ached, and I felt the sting of air and my shirt as it clung to it.

Something moved again. I bit down on my lips to quiet myself. It was slinking through the brush. I saw the top of some plants part as whatever it was slithered close to the ground. I took a step back, away from the log, just trying to put some distance between me and the hunter.

I put a hand on my hip. It hit me then that I was armed. I went for the knife, but decided on the gun. Carefully, I pulled it from my cargo pocket. I couldn't see where the safety was. I hoped I could find it soon enough.

Stepping back again, I kept retreating behind one tree, and then to some roots and brush. I kept trying to figure out the safety on the gun but then I lost track of what was stalking me. I clicked the safety, but I couldn't tell if it was on or off. _What if in my fall I hit it off? That means it's on now, and I won't be able to defend myself._ I didn't know much about guns expect the point and shoot factor, and I felt sure that the lack of knowledge would get me killed.

_Maybe it's just as well._

To my right, something rustled. I swung wildly with the gun to that direction, watching, waiting. But nothing else moved. My pulse sped up, my heart so loud I felt sure that's what this thing was using to find me.

Then I felt cold, a rush of tingling cold at the back of my neck and down my spine. I knew there was nothing in front of me. I'd been tricked.

It was behind me.

I pivoted around, and that's when it leapt at me. My finger tried for the trigger, but I couldn't find it in time. A mass hit me to the ground with such force that I slid back over the slick mud. I grasped at anything to get myself on my feet, but then whatever it was grabbed me.

That's when I knew it was human, but that was little comfort. His hand clamped over my mouth, and I fought wildly against him, but I was no match for him. That did nothing for my fear. In the sparse moonlight, I saw him hold a knife in one hand, and it came at my neck.

I shrieked into his hand. My eyes stayed on the knife, and though he held me close to him, I still had one arm free. I grabbed his arm, bracing myself to push the knife away, but he was stronger than me. He rolled me over the ground, trying to crush me to relinquish my hold, but it would be my death if I gave in. I held on tight, and kicked him. His hand over my mouth moved to cover my nose too, and then I had to admit he was going to win. Still I fought, but I couldn't breathe. My strength, the little I had at this point, faded.

As soon as I dropped my opposing hand, I watched the knife come at me. I closed my eyes. But no sharp pain came—he didn't stab me. The knife he pressed against my neck, and then he pinned my arms to my body with his hold.

"You move, you die," he whispered in my ear. I still couldn't breathe, but just then he moved his hand down to cover only my mouth. My lungs quickly drunk in air.

His words repeated in my mind. He'd spoken English with an American accent. _A soldier! _He rolled us over, me on my stomach with him pressing me to the ground with his weight. His hand withdrew from my mouth.

"Wait, don't kill—" I started to plead. He slapped his hand back over my mouth.

"LT," he said, and I got the feeling not to me. Maybe he wasn't going to kill me without permission. "Unexpected company."

I didn't hear what might have been said back, but my mind was focused on a sharp prick on my neck. He hadn't relaxed the knife at all.

"One. Not sure how many more," the soldier said.

"I'm alone," I said. The soldier just pressed the knife harder into my jaw. I tensed, trying not to cry out as it started to hurt.

"Hold back," the soldier whispered to whoever he was talking to. Suddenly he rolled off me and flipped me on my back. He pinned me down with his knee, and it dug into my injured side. I shut my eyes, trying not to cry or do anything that might make him kill me.

His eyes were incredibly bright against the dark silhouette that made up the rest of him. I tried to focus on the eyes, because everything else scared me. He kept the knife at my throat, and looked around. He was listening, watching, waiting.

_For others. He thinks I'm with others?_ I didn't think I looked like a rebel, but maybe it was too dark for him to think differently.

I noticed his hair. It was the mohawk, the soldier who'd inadvertently helped me before. _The irony._

It was a full minute of waiting, me pressed to the mud, and him not giving an inch in his watch. I thought the stinging pain in my side was going to get the better of me. Slowly though, he looked away from the jungle and down at me. He leaned closer to me.

"Where are the others?" he asked in a low whisper.

"What others?"

He didn't like my question. He grabbed the knife off my waist and doubled the threat at my neck.

"Please," I found myself saying, "I'm alone. I'm not your enemy."

He stared hard at me, and I prayed he would believe me.

"We'll see."

Suddenly he raised one knife and stabbed it into the ground by my head. I flinched, unsure if he was going to hit me with it. He grabbed my arms and pinned them above my head against the ground. He started searching me. With his own knife, he cut the strap of the canteen. His eyes lingered on the canteen.

His hands patted me down to my ankles, and then he came back up, searching around my waist and lifting me enough that he snaked a hand to the small of my back. He paused at my side, the one that was stinging like crazy. He touched it, and I drew a sharp take of breath.

"Why do you have rebel gear?" he asked. I frowned, but followed the flicker of his gaze to the canteen and knife. There was a symbol on the canteen. _The rebel's symbol?_

"I took it from a dead soldier," I said, but I thought I should have done better on the phrasing. "Back at the village. Where you and the others came."

The confusion that riddled his face was easy to spot in the dark. "Keep talking." He didn't ease his grip on me.

I didn't know how to say anything else. Anything as to who I was or my purpose at the village would lead to my guilty confession. I didn't want him to know, or any of the survivors. I just wanted to be unseen. I didn't want to tick him off either, but too late for that.

He didn't like my hesitation. He pressed his free hand into my injured side, and I shrieked. He slapped his hand over my mouth, but didn't let up on the pressure in my side.

"Start talking," he hissed in my ear. I squirmed beneath him, fighting for some relief on my side, but he just pressed harder until I stopped moving.

Slowly, his hand moved away from my mouth. His eyes bore into mine, but I could hardly focus.

"I'm trying to get to Cameroon," I said breathlessly. "I don't know if I'm even headed the right direction."

"You were back at the village?" Though a question, his tone was a demand. I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Why?"

_Please don't make me tell you._

His hand moved to my side again.

"No!" I said frantically. He seemed to smirk at that, the unfeeling jerk.

"Let's get something straight," he said. "I've got no reason to trust you. You look American, but that means nothing out here." _Figures. _"A rebel force has been tracking us, and our chances of reaching safety are disappearing. So you better tell me everything before I just assume you're leading the rebels to us."

"Why would I be with the rebels?" I closed my eyes, wishing I were smarter and back in the States where this wouldn't happen.

"It wouldn't be the first time I met a traitor." His hand hovered over my side. I glared at him, but reluctantly, I opened my mouth.

"I was there for four weeks," I said. "A humanitarian mission. When the rebels came, I hid."

"Doesn't explain why you're sneaking around now."

"I don't know. I was afraid." That was true enough. "I planned to just make my way to Cameroon."

His eyes narrowed at me.

"Following us?"

I nodded, but I avoided his eyes.

"You're ahead of the group right now."

I stared at him, shocked. "Ahead?" He nodded. I don't know how I managed to get ahead, especially with how I was running. Maybe I cut through the jungle while they weaved around?

"Red thought someone was following all day," he said as an afterthought to himself. The soldier got up then, pulling me up with him. A shiver ran through me, and I couldn't hide it. He looked at me like I was a freak. It was still hot at night, and the rain made it muggy. Still . . .

"Why didn't you join the group?" he asked.

"I . . ." I didn't want to answer that either. He looked at me with suspicion still. I didn't want him to threaten me again. "I just didn't."

He stared at me, scrutinizing me. I didn't dare move. I just watched him back, waiting to take my lead from him. He broke off his gaze and sheathed his knife. On the ground was the knife I carried before, and he picked it up. He glanced at it and then to me, but pocketed the knife. He had a rifle strapped to his back, and he brought it forward. The precaution he was taking clued me in that I was far from trusted.

He glanced to the ground a little ways away, and without taking his eyes off me for more than two seconds, retrieved the gun I had carried. It went into one of his pockets. He nodded up the way he'd come.

"Move."

-0-0-0-

'LT,' I learned quickly, was the bald guy. Lieutenant. He met me and Mr. Mohawk as we came to the head of the group.

"Lake, who's this?"

I figured I'd let Mohawk—Lake—answer. Besides, the lieutenant didn't seem happy to see me.

"Straggler from the village, so she says," Lake said. I glared at him over my shoulder, but I don't think he saw my expression in the dark.

"American?" LT asked, this time to me. I nodded. "You have a name?"

"Jane," I said. "Jane Sorenson."

LT didn't seem all convinced either, and I started to wonder what it was about my answers that were less than satisfactory. He took a step towards me, and instinctively I backed up, right into Lake. It jarred my side, and I winced.

The LT looked me over, probably noticing my sorry appearance with all the mud, but there wasn't a shred of sympathy in it.

"We've been evacuating foreign nationals all week," he said. "Never heard of Jane Sorenson."

"Why would you?" I frowned. I didn't get why he would have heard of me. He turned and pointed to some figures coming up in the group.

"See that woman? She's a foreigner. We knew where she was," LT said. "Anyone in the country that we knew about has been given the chance to leave." He looked right at me. "Why didn't we know about you?"

"I don't know. I came in on my passport, six weeks ago—" Suddenly Lake nudged his rifle in my back.

"You said four weeks," he hissed.

"In the village," I replied hastily. "It took me a couple of weeks to find where I could go and help."

"Help?" LT asked.

"I came to join up with one of the humanitarian groups," I answered. Lake snickered.

"You've been hiding from the village since the raid. Not much of a do-gooder."

I tried not to let that get to me, but it's the very argument that was in my head since the rebels came. I was glad Lake was behind me. I didn't want him to see that his words cut me.

LT watched me closely.

"If you're with the village, you'll know some of these people," he said. He jerked me by the arm, and I just about tripped. He led me through the group, and I got lots of stares, from the soldiers too.

"Does anyone know this woman?" LT asked. No one answered. I couldn't tell if I knew any of them—LT was pulling me along quickly. If they did know me, and not say anything, it must have been because they hated me for what I did. Or didn't do.

"Jane?"

LT looked sharply to the side, where Nmumbu stood. He looked shocked to see me.

"Nmumbu," I managed to say. My throat tightened. And then Nmumbu smiled so broadly his teeth shone against the night.

"You're alive!" He came to me and embraced me. "Where were you?!"

Two others from the village came up then, and though I couldn't remember their names, they recognized me too.

"Where were you?" Nmumbu asked again. It seemed like everyone was staring at me.

"In the hills," I whispered. There was no response to that, but I could imagine what everyone was thinking.

"I'm glad you're alive," Nmumbu said solemnly. I stared hard at him. Did he really mean it? Was there hidden meaning in that, a backhanded sentiment?

"Come on," LT said, breaking up anything else to be said. "We have to keep moving. Another mile and we'll camp for the night."

I fell in line behind Nmumbu at the back of the group. I noticed Red. He studied me cautiously, and I rethought the back of the group idea. He might get ticked when he figured out I was the one bugging him all day. Not on purpose, but he might not have seen it that way.

"Ms. Sorenson," LT called, and I moved over to him just to avoid Red's suspecting glare.

"Yes?" I nearly said 'sir.'

"You'll stay up ahead, with me and Lake."

I swallowed hard. I must not have moved right away, because LT grabbed my arm again, a little less roughly though, and escorted me to the head of the group. Why were they moving me to the front? There were three or four soldiers up there—

_Oh._ I guess I had my answer.

-0-0-0-

The hiking took its toll on me. I couldn't hide a limp as we walked, and I grasped my side, willing it to stop aching.

LT held up his fist, and instantly his men stopped. I heard a few kindly voices talking to the other villagers and survivors, telling them we'd stop now for the rest of the night. But no one talked to me.

I swallowed hard. My canteen was left back a mile or more, where I encountered Lake.

Speaking of, he glanced from his perch at the lead of the group back at me. I couldn't meet his eyes, didn't really care to. But I saw him hold his hand to his throat, where a black collar was. He said something into it. All the soldiers had the collars.

_Beats walkie talkies._

A few moments later, the soldier in a bandana knelt beside me.

"Jane, right?" he asked. I nodded. "You're injured?"

He immediately looked to my side. Before I could say anything, he reached for the edge of my shirt.

"May I?" His politeness threw me off enough that I just nodded again. He grabbed a small light from somewhere on his pack and shined it on my side. I sucked in a breath when I saw my skin. It was ripped, and puffy red, like it was irritated. I don't know what I fell and hit, but it did some good damage. Lake's nice questioning technique didn't help.

The soldier, who I later learned was nicknamed Doc, reached into his various pockets and dressed the wound. In a minute, I was patched up.

"Thank you," I said.

Doc just smiled and went back to the rest of the group.

"Sorry," someone said behind me, and it freaked me out. I turned to see Lake standing there. He nodded at my side.

I frowned. Was he being sympathetic? Or did he regret how he handled the wound? I knew something about regret, and as much as I thought he had his smug tendencies, I didn't want to be bitter.

"This happened before you found me," I said. "I fell. Not your fault." His face was unreadable in response. He just stared at me and then stepped back.

"Get some rest."

He walked off ahead. I watched him until he disappeared from view.

-0-0-0-

a/n: I know this isn't the most popular movie (and it's hard to find on this site if you like it a lot), so the response so far is a little discouraging compared to other fic-doms (say King Arthur). Actually, if you like KA fics, you'll see some similarities in this movie (both are directed by Antoine Fuqua, for example, and the character Lake is kind of a scout, like Tristan in KA). Anyway, my point being, I love reviews, so feel free to send one!


	4. The Way It Is

Chapter Four: The Way It Is

The screams were in my head as I slept. I heard Nmumbu, and the screams of the dead villagers. For some reason, I saw the image of my watch, the hour hand rolling round and round for all the time I'd just hid and listened to those screams, to the torture the people went through.

I woke up with a jolt as I heard tense voices arguing. I quickly sat up.

My movement startled the two voices I'd heard subconsciously. LT and Lake stood in front of me, though with a little distance.

"I already did, last night," Lake said, looking back to LT.

LT looked sternly at me, and then the rest of the group. We were all hunkered down, resting but alert enough.

"Search her again."

LT walked off, and I saw Lake's jaw tighten. He turned towards me. I tensed up.

"Get up, please," he said. I obeyed. He walked to me, his rifle supported by one hand and the strap across his shoulder. His eyes, which I could see were quite light compared to his demeanor, fixed on me enough that I chickened out and took a step back. That was becoming a habit, and it bugged me. Since when did I become such a coward . . .

He tilted his head slightly at my movement.

"Could you raise your arms, Miss Sorenson?" he asked. He was being polite, but I saw his lieutenant glancing my way distrustfully. I raised my arms, holding them out from my sides.

He started patting me down. I tried not to flinch at his touch.

"Didn't we do this last night?" I asked. My mouth felt cotton-dry, and I swallowed. I hoped he didn't hear how nervous I sounded. I think my voice was wavering. He glanced at me, his eyes sparkling somewhat. Was he amused?

"Just following orders, miss," he said. His hand grazed my butt just then, and he hesitated as he realized it. My wit came from nowhere.

"Sure you are." He looked sharply to me, close to showing a tiny bit of embarrassment. Suddenly he laughed, just a quiet breath of air, but a smile complimented his face. I smiled back. Thank goodness for breaking the ice.

He put his hand to the collar on his neck.

"She's clean," he said. LT turned and glanced over his shoulder from where he stood by the rest of the group. A few others were being frisked too. Lake glanced back at me. "Well, sort of."

His eyes moved up and down over me, and I looked at myself. The mud had dried on my skin and clothes. I think my face was somewhat better, but not much. Lake moved off before I could blush, but I heard him laughing to himself.

_Jerk._

The woman in the group, the doctor, spoke quickly with LT. Something was going on. I didn't quite understand what, but there wasn't much I could do to figure out what it was. I was just along for the ride.

I kind of hated that.

Suddenly, one of the men ran away. I didn't recognize him, so he must have come with the soldiers or something.

"LT!" yelled one of the Americans. I gasped as he took aim at the man. My eyes moved to the man as the shot echoed through the trees. The man yelped and went down.

Instantly, LT and two others ran after the man. But the other soldiers corralled the group back.

"Down!" Lake yelled, and everyone obeyed. I certainly did too. Lake glanced my way but seemed satisfied I wasn't moving or making trouble. He was on full-alert now. Amazing, how quickly these men changed. _Their lives depend on it._

The doctor, who I heard someone call Lena, ran to the injured man. I wasn't horrified like she was about the shot. Something in how LT and Lake looked told me it wasn't for nothing. There was a threat here. The soldiers took care of it. A cold way to think of it, but I trusted the soldiers enough to know they'd keep us safe.

Lena argued with LT. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but LT silenced her with a look. I thought that was interesting. Not sure why, but . . .

I looked away from them, and in the corner of my eye I noticed Lake was watching me. I met his eyes, until LT came back towards us all.

He held something in his hand.

"Does someone want to tell me why anyone would be transmitting our position?"

_Transmitting . . ._ Tracking us? Who was tracking us?

"Rebels," I whispered the answer aloud to myself. Lake glanced at me.

"Someone knows something," LT said. He was miffed. "I'm going to count to five." He raised his pistol, level at the eyes of one of the men. Nmumbu was next to him, and even though they did not know each other, Nmumbu shook his head, as if to influence LT not to do anything drastic.

I found myself rooted to where I stood. I didn't even sway. The scene just unfolded before me. A younger man, probably my age, stepped forward.

"Please," he said. "Please. There's no need for this."

"You know something, don't you?" I heard LT say.

The young man shielded his friend as he spoke. "I am Arthur Azuka. Son of President Samuel Azuka."

Those names sounded like they should mean something to me. Looking around, they made an impact on the survivors, the villagers, even the American soldiers. The feeling of stupidity washed over me. How little I knew . . . how little I understood of what surrounded me.

I wondered if I ever really cared for anyone here. I hadn't cared enough to find out the dangers each person faced. I hadn't cared enough to move from that hillside.

Was I really here now just to satisfy some vague dream of helping people? If so, it wasn't to help them. It was to make myself feel better because I would feel like I was doing something good.

A part of me was glad that I've failed in that too.

-0-0-0-

We hiked some more after that, until we reached a river. We stopped there. I moved downstream to wash off the mud on me. The water was cloudy as I rinsed my face.

"Great," I whispered at my reflection. I figured how I looked reflected how I felt.

"You shouldn't be too far away from the group."

I spun around. It was Lake. Water dripped down my face. I turned back to the river.

"I'm okay," I said, for lack of any other comment. Lake glanced around the area—was the guy ever not on alert?—and then knelt by the river. He cupped some water in his hands and splashed it on his face.

"You looked confused back there," he said. He sat back on a boulder, his hands resting on his rifle. It was completely casual for him.

"Which part?"

He laughed.

"You really haven't been here long," he surmised. That stabbed at my dwindling pride.

"No, I haven't." He quieted.

"He's the son of the Nigerian president," Lake said, looking to the young man in question. Arthur was huddled with the rest of the group. "The _late_ Nigerian president. You know there was a coup, right?'

Well, now I knew. I'd heard rumors around the village, and could tell people were nervous, but I don't think anyone thought we'd be a target.

"So they want him dead?" I surmised out loud. Lake nodded.

"As the former president's son and some other tribal crap, he actually has a place to lead," he explained.

I splashed some more water on my face. The droplets trickled in my eyes, and I welcomed that. I wore contacts, and this wasn't comfortable for them. Even with the muggy air, my eyes felt dry.

I took a contact out, and washed it in the water.

"You probably shouldn't do that," Lake said. Was he worried about the water quality?

"How else do I do it?" He didn't answer. Probably had 20-20 vision, lucky jerk.

"Why do you stay away from the other refugees?"

I froze at his question.

"You claim you lived there for 4 weeks, but you've avoided all of them," he pressed on.

"Still don't believe me?"

Lake narrowed his eyes discerningly at me. "No, I believe you. But they're worried about you, and you haven't spoken to them at all."

"I talked to Nmumbu," I said hotly. Lake smiled like he was indulging me. I wasn't some kid here, but he was patronizing me anyway. "Look, you don't know anything about me or what I'm doing here."

"You're right."

Crap. He cut me off before I could make my whole argument. I was stumped at that point.

"They're worried you were hurt, and not telling anyone," Lake said. I frowned. Hurt? When? I glanced at my side— "At the village," Lake corrected me. He stared into my eyes pointedly.

Oh. I got what he meant. The villagers were afraid I had been attacked. Or . . .

I shuddered just thinking about it. That alarmed Lake. His eyes widened.

"Were you—"

"No." Even if I had been attacked, I don't know I'd tell Lake about it. Besides, I know some of the women had been raped. Would it have been so different or much more awful had it been me, at least to the soldiers' point of view?

"Jane . . ."

Hearing him say my name caught my attention more. It broke something down, a stubborn, guilty wall I'd put up since the rebels' attack on the village.

"No, I wasn't attacked. I hid, remember?" He'd pointed it out, after all. "I heard the shots and screams early in the morning. I ran to the hills and hid in the bushes." I felt like throwing up just saying it. But like any internal poison, it had to be purged. "You guys didn't come around till early afternoon, right? The whole time, I just watched and hid."

It took him a moment to think of something to say.

"You would have been hurt or killed had you stayed," he said.

"Like the villagers," I said.

He looked away, and I don't blame him. He was the one who blazed in, killing the rebels and saving anyone they could. He was the one who saw every atrocity.

"It was for the best," he said, but even to me it sounded lame.

"Yeah. It was better to hear the screams and not know what was happening," I said hollowly. "Instead I imagined what was happening. You know what, though?"

He waited for me to continue.

"What they went through—I'm sure it wasn't even close to what I imagined." Lake looked away again, and there was something dark in his eyes. It confirmed it for me. He'd seen worse, by far.

"Your friends could use you," he said, nodding at the villagers. 'Refugees,' he'd called them. I supposed that was accurate too. "They saw it all. Nearly died."

_Rub it in, why don't you?_ I couldn't face them now. How could I relate? I was just a foreigner, one who didn't even see what they saw. Not that I wanted to, but saying 'I'm sorry' and trying to comfort when I had no idea how bad it was just felt fake.

Like everything about me in this country. _So much for helping them._

I must have said that aloud. Lake stared at me, and he almost looked startled. I suddenly felt weak. I felt my skin go clammy, more so than usual out here, and I stumbled to my feet.

"Excuse me," I muttered. I threw up nothing but liquid into the bushes. My body started shaking then, and I had to go to my knees.

Lake moved behind me. I could hear the rattling of his gun and various things attached to his harnesses and whatever else soldiers had on them. I grabbed my hair and pulled it back. My arm shook as I moved.

"Drink this." Lake shoved a canteen near my face. I shook my head.

"Don't want to get you sick." Besides, I just threw up nothing but liquid anyway. I didn't feel like adding fuel to the fire.

Lake grabbed me by my arm and hoisted me to my feet.

"You're not sick," he said. I begged to differ with a glance at the bushes. Lake rolled his eyes. "You're in shock. Come on."

Shock? Really? That was convenient. I didn't buy it. I had nothing to be shocked about. My experience thus far had been a cake walk compared to anyone else. To Nmumbu, who was nearly burned alive. To Maria, who died in the village. To 65 or so others . . . I had seen one thing from my perch on the hill. I'd seen a pile of bodies. It grew each hour, as the rebels gathered the bodies and stacked them by a hut. Odd that they were so organized with that.

"Jane." I forced myself to look at Lake as steadily as I could. He held the canteen close to my face. I just stared at it.

He sighed, and tilted my head back. He poured the water down my throat, and I let him. His eyes were focused on making me drink. Mine were focused on him. Why did he care at all? He was stuck in the middle of this mess too. A soldier's life wasn't all patriotic all the time. He had to be ticked to be in this situation. And now with me to look after—

I pulled away, the water spilling until he righted the canteen. I wasn't going to be a burden. I wiped my mouth resolutely.

"Thank you," I said sternly. His brow furrowed at my tone. I felt too tired and confused to feel bad about that now.

He looked suddenly to the other soldiers. They were gathering around some rocks on the river bank, upstream. He glanced back to me. He was being summoned. I could hear the low vibrations of the transmission over his communications collar.

"Go," I said, nodding at the others.

He walked backwards at first, a few steps as he watched me. I turned to the river to wash my face again. But in the reflection of the water, I saw he'd come back.

"Don't blame yourself," he said. Part of me wanted to argue that. "Guilt doesn't help anyone. And if you're going to survive this, you have to be sharp."

He stepped back once, and stopped again.

"If you'd gone back, I might have found your body. Raped, bloodied, and probably in pieces." His voice was stern, low in a husky way but not flirty at all. "What they did to those people, especially the women . . . It was bad enough seeing them like that."

He pivoted sharply and walked off, every bit the soldier and in-control man he'd shown me thus far. But what he said got through to me. And what he had left unsaid made me think.

It made me see him in a different light. A deeper light. Instead of fear or apprehension, there was respect for him, beyond the respect that comes with being a soldier. The respect for a man.

"_If you're going to survive this, you have to be sharp."_ I vowed to myself that I would be. No more personal pity. Guilt doesn't just instantly disappear, but I wasn't going to let my repeated failures haunt me at the expense of my life—nor at the expense of the people around me.

I waited until we started moving again to approach Lake. Thankfully, my stomach wasn't bugging me now. The vain girl in me felt embarrassed about throwing up before.

He turned his head slightly as I came up behind him.

"Lake," I started. I didn't think I'd verbally called him that before. "Is that your name or code or what?" I got off topic already, but it was one of those questions that just popped up.

He turned to face me, a smile showing off his amusement.

"My name. Kelly Lake." _Kelly,_ I repeated in my mind. He had a tattoo just below his left ear with the initials JKL. I wondered if 'J' was part of his name too. "We don't go by code names within the unit."

I nodded. He looked pointedly at me, and I remembered my reason for coming up to him.

"I don't want to be one more worry for you guys," I said. "I know you'll worry anyway, but I want to help."

"Help," Kelly Lake repeated. His skepticism was obvious.

"I had a gun and a knife when we met." His eyes showed he got what I was getting at.

"You want them back."

I nodded. "If you don't need them." I knew he didn't. He hesitated, studying me like he was trying to figure what I was thinking. Then he reached into one of his pockets. He withdrew the gun, and checked it. I saw him flip the safety on and off, and then hand it to me handle-first.

He handed me the knife too, but his eyes stayed on the gun.

"You know how to use that?" he asked.

"As well as any of the others," I replied with a nod at the villagers. He smirked.

"Comforting." He watched as I double checked the safety (I admit it was for show, to prove I could do it), and put the gun in my pocket. "It only has 9 bullets left. If it comes to it, conserve your ammo."

I nodded. The knife I put on my hip in its sheath. Lake hadn't moved the whole time. Glancing up at him, I saw the doubt in his eyes.

"The soldier I got these from was a rebel," I said. He knew that, of course. "He was running towards me, at the village, when I was hiding on the hill. I don't think he knew I was there, but he would have found me."

Lake frowned.

"You shot him before he reached me," I said, and the effect on Lake was immediate. His eyes widened slightly. "You didn't know, but . . . thank you. You saved my life."

I offered a tight smile, and went to walk at the front of the group, where I'd been so far. I managed to smile and say hello to the villagers as I moved past them. Nmumbu especially smiled back, and I think he was relieved. I guess Lake was right.


	5. Ominous

a/n: Well, I struggled with this chapter, and when I rewrote it yesterday, I know why. Hopefully it's an enjoyable read. Thanks! Reviews are more than welcome!

Chapter Five: Ominous

There was something worse coming. I could feel it.

Each soldier looked tense. Lake especially looked like doom was inevitable. He led the group, well ahead of it actually, to be safe. We were getting close to Cameroon. The refugees were excited. No one was stupid though. Rebel soldiers were still hunting us, and they wanted us dead.

Actually, from what Lake mentioned, they wanted Arthur Azuka dead. For a brief second, I wondered what they'd do to him, if they found us. I felt sick just thinking about it.

"You look tense," came a voice to my left. I was surprised it was Red who spoke. I found myself surveying him instead of answering right away, which was probably rude, but oh well. Red (a nickname, I assumed) had that close-cropped/shaved hair look. The short hair was reddish blonde—I remember he had darkened it up before with paint or whatever. It'd worn off now, but I didn't think it mattered as much. His eyes were light, and that's when I noticed he was still waiting.

"This isn't really a relaxing situation," I said, gesturing to the guns and the group. Red chuckled. He had a slight accent, just a drawl of the South, but it came and went in his words.

"I suppose not," he said. He looked ahead and to the sides, a cautionary, defensive thing. I thought it was interesting how he and the others could multitask like that, always be in the soldier mindset. Actually, Lake couldn't quite do that as much since he was scouting for danger at the head of the group, but I guess that was good, for safety's sake.

I was in the middle of the group now, which got me thinking. I peered at Red curiously.

"I thought you were always at the back of the group," I said. Red raised an eyebrow at my remark.

"Why's that?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but hesitated. It might not be a good thing to bring up, but . . .

"You were always at the back of the group, when I was following you all." I tensed up, waiting for some bad blood to emerge or something. But Red just smiled, more to himself than me.

"We rotate around sometimes," he said. "I was supposed to watch for hostiles following us." He grinned, and that relieved me. _Guess he doesn't hold a grudge._ Not anymore, at least. I could have sworn once I was brought to the group that he was imagining ways to kill me.

"Sorry about that," I said. He frowned.

"Why?"

I shrugged. "Lake said you knew someone was following. I probably just put you more on edge, and . . . I don't know. You seemed ticked, knowing someone was there. It probably wasn't what you needed."

Red glanced around again as we continued to walk.

"It was exactly what I needed," he said, and this too was more to himself than me. I frowned. I watched him closely, wondering what he meant. As if sensing that, he glanced my way. "It was a good distraction. We'd just come from the village, remember?"

Of course I remembered. Duh.

But his words were laced with haunting, and I could tell he was affected by the village too—actually, more so than what I saw in the other soldiers.

"Anyway," –I think his voice wavered there, "trying to catch you was a pain in the butt, but at least it kept me sharp."

I smiled.

"Glad I could help."

Another chuckle. It was nice to hear. I found my respect for Red growing, which was a nice replacement for the fear I had before. He was a good man.

My eyes wandered to the other soldiers. Humanity in a soldier wasn't the first thing I expected, yet here I saw it in these highly-trained men. I wondered what else they'd been through. They obviously excelled at their tasks, which made me admire them even more—the stereotypes for the outstanding soldier didn't include humanity and compassion. Maybe that's what made them stand out to me. Despite the uniform that discouraged uniqueness, each man was still human, with a personality and emotions . . . Good people, not machines.

I didn't know what was so special about that realization, but it made me feel more at home and safe than I had felt since leaving the United States.

It was midday when the group stopped. LT and Zee, the African American soldier, knelt down and motioned for everyone to do the same. I peered above the grass as much as I could to spot Lake.

"Miss Sorenson," Red whispered. "Stay down."

I glanced between him and Lake. Lake was focused on the field in front of us, and his posture said something was near. But I slinked back down.

The villagers with weapons had them all out and ready for danger. I pulled out the gun I had, but didn't remove the safety yet. Last thing I wanted now was to accidentally shoot one of the soldiers. I glanced at Red, thinking he'd probably think I was crazy, but he wasn't paying attention to me. His eyes were on the treeline on the other side of the field.

He stayed low, and moved further to the left. I was left with the villagers, staring at the quiet, tense field.

I looked for Lake again. Blades of tall grass cut into my view. I found him though. He had his rifle ready as his eyes scanned back and forth. I couldn't see what he was seeing.

Then I heard something. I couldn't describe it, but instinctively I knew it was a bad sound. I heard Red say, "Sniper, 11 o'clock." _A shot._ That was what the sound was, but it was quieter than I expected. I couldn't see Lake. Leaning left and right, I tried to find him.

He was lying down.

"Lake," I whispered. Lena, the doctor, was beside me. I heard her swallow. Amazing that it was that quiet. And then things exploded.

Zee and Red fired something into the treeline across the field. LT and the soldier named Doc ran ahead to Lake. I held my breath until I saw them helping Lake—and Lake was moving around fine.

"He's been hit," Lena said. I only nodded. Thank goodness he was moving.

The feel of the gun in my hand made me look down. Pursing my lips, I stared hard at the safety. And then I flipped it off. From the corner of my eye, Lena stared at me strangely.

LT and Doc stood, bringing Lake to his feet with them. All three had their guns ready. The soldiers launched ahead, and then the trees above us exploded with a rocket of some sort.

I screamed. The villagers too. Gunfire deafened me, ahead of us and across the field. The soldiers were fighting against the rebels. We'd been found for sure. As that reality sunk in, I froze. My eyes found one of the soldiers. I'm not sure if it was LT, Red, Zee, or Doc, but I watched as shell casings flew over his shoulder and into the air.

It wasn't Red, I realized, as he suddenly bolted straight at the enemy. I gasped, but the Americans were firing more rapidly now, covering him. Red dove into the grass for some reason, and I saw something in his hands. He came back moments later, diving again behind cover, but without whatever object he held before.

And then I saw one of the soldiers get hit. I didn't know him enough—I think his name might have been Slo, a nickname perhaps. He was shot right in the gut. He sank to his knees. Zee went to him.

Something blew up right then, coming from in front of us. And then it got quiet. Morbidly, dazed, I just watched. The Americans regrouped, huddling around Slo if they could, or maintaining watch on the enemy. From what the soldiers were saying, the glimpses I heard, Slo was dying.

I felt the anger build within me. How could this happen now? We were so close to Cameroon, and everyone had been through so much already. We had to make it. I didn't want anyone to die, not when we were a stone's throw away.

"Slo!" LT yelled with a tone of denial. Slo was dead then. I closed my eyes briefly, uttering a silent prayer that he would be taken care of.

Then there was shouting. It came from the treeline as a roar, all the enemy, and the sheer number of what I heard made me afraid. That was the point of yelling like that, and it worked well. The soldiers readied for Round 2. Lake slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle. LT got this stern look on his face, staring down the enemy. Red drew a deep breath.

I wondered how long this would continue.

I thought about shooting something, but didn't see an enemy I could hit. "_If it comes to it, conserve your ammo._" I gritted my teeth at Lake's voice in my head. For now, I couldn't waste a shot, and having never fired a gun before, any shot would definitely be wasted.

"Run!" Hell was breaking loose, or more so than it was before.

The villagers answered the Americans' command, screaming and running towards Cameroon. I wasn't sure if I should follow them. Cynically, I wondered if they were running the right direction.

A bush next to me was shot up by bullets, and a poof of leaves rained around me. That got me moving. I looked over my shoulder, though, still not sold on running away. The Americans formed a line, firing at the oncoming rebels. One by one they would change positions.

I saw Lake, moving for his turn, when he stopped. _What's he doing?_ He was running towards the enemy—

--to the aid of one of the villagers. It was a woman, taking cover and shrieking right in the thick of the crossfire. My heart caught in my throat. Someone pulled at my arm, and I stumbled backwards. My eyes didn't leave Lake though.

Suddenly his body was spun to one side violently. I saw him wince, the pain on his face from another bullet wound. The woman he tried to save went down, and then I saw Lake fall after her.

"Lake!!!"

Someone was still pulling at me, but my scream emboldened me to wiggle out of their grasp. I don't know who it was that was trying to get me to move. I just wanted . . . I wanted to not be here. To be in Cameroon. With everyone safely there, alive.

My eyes stayed on Lake. He was moving still, crawling forward slightly. But then I saw the soldiers, the Americans, running harder than before.

"Move! Now!" Red came straight towards me. His mouth moved more, probably to swear at me because I didn't budge, but it was lost in a grenade explosion not far from us.

"He's alive," I said, but I doubt Red heard me. I might have whispered it. Lake was still alive, but far away given our relative proximity to the enemy. It was too dangerous—I knew it. My arm came up to point at Lake.

Red just snagged my arm as he ran by. He pushed me forward, and my legs started moving on their own. I barely saw where I was going. I felt numb. In my mind, I saw Lake falling. Crawling. And the enemy overtaking him.

"Keep going!" I heard from behind me. Red and the other soldiers were falling behind, trying to fend off the rebels. I followed a path of sorts, and turned a bend in it till I lost sight of anyone. I could hear the fighting, but I was blind to it.

Until a flash blinded me too. There was a boom and light, both of which stunned me. It was an explosion, and it threw me off the path, rolling over the grass. Shrapnel flew around me and various sticks and rocks scraped my skin and clothes.

Everything got hazy. I know that's said a lot, but that's how it was. I heard voices—perhaps Red calling out. But I was so tired! Red and the others would be running past me, if they hadn't already. Maybe it was too late. My sense of time was off, that relative experience. Maybe I was injured.

Raising my head to survey my condition, I didn't find any limbs missing. _Odd._

"_You're in shock."_ This time, Lake's diagnosis might have applied.

And then the ground shook with the footsteps of hundreds of rebels. If they found me, I would be shot. _The gun._ I looked to my right hand. I still had it. My hand was clamped so tightly around it that if it were alive, the gun might have hurt. I smiled to myself. I still had my knife, but I left it untouched.

I flipped the safety off the gun and pointed it at the rebel soldiers rushing by. Gunfire, which was a constant sound, continued closer to Cameroon. _I should get there. _But I looked in the direction I'd come.

Common sense screamed at me to look out for myself. I was huddled to the ground, and I had a very clear sense of déjà vu. Rebel soldiers, screaming, running away. I knew that the situation was different, to a degree. I mean, everyone was running, and Red told me to do as much. But something held me back.

Maybe it was grief, for the loss of the soldiers so far. Maybe it was delusion brought on by shock. I couldn't leave though. It didn't feel right. I couldn't abandon . . .

_Abandon who? They're dead._ More likely than not, that was true. But what if it wasn't? Especially . . . _Lake._ I know what he said before about the village—had I stayed, he would have found my body.

I ended up reasoning that if I headed for Cameroon, I'd be right alongside the enemy, and probably be killed easier. If I headed back the way we'd come, back to the field, I might be safer, farther from the rebels.

Staying low, I moved away from the main path of the rebels, and headed back to the field where the assault began.

I hoped the others would make it to Cameroon safely. I hoped I would see them again, Nmumbu, LT, Lena, Red.

I hoped I wasn't making a very bad mistake.


	6. Cleanup Crew

a/n: Can I just say how much I hate 1st person? I'm locked into it now, but I so want to switch to 3rd person, and tell more about Lake's point of view or another soldier's. Argh.

Chapter Six: Clean-up Crew

Underlying the gunfire and hand grenades was laughter. It confused me enough that I stopped my guarded trek back to the field. I was hidden in the trees.

I moved closer. The field was ahead of me. I could see the rebel soldiers spread out. Only four of them, but for some reason they were walking casually. _Why? _What made them less eager to hunt us?

One of them shouted something—I couldn't understand it—and laughed. I had to squint to see. I couldn't entire make out what he was doing—

A gun shot echoed across the field. The sound made me jolt. There was laughter again, and the soldier moved on. Like a bomb, it hit me what these four soldiers were doing. They were cleaning up.

Whoever was just shot had been alive.

_Had._

I was outraged—not in the American way of you-violated-my-rights, I'm-entitled-to-this-and-that, or whatever garbage. I was furious, horrified, hurt, afraid—a thousand different emotions. The rebels were scouring each body for a live one.

This was so beyond the world I understood.

In the distance, I heard gunfire and shouts. The American soldiers and refugees were still being pursued. Danger was all around, with a killing squad right here in front of me. I should have hid more, but my eyes found a familiar figure.

_Lake._

If he was alive, they would finish the job. They would murder him.

I made a mental note of where the four soldiers were and I crept closer. The rebels were concentrating on the ground, but I hoped they wouldn't see me out of their peripheral vision. I ducked behind a tree to gather my senses.

_Four rebels._ Two were further away to the right of my position. The other two were coming at me from the treeline where the enemy was originally. They were bored, kicking at arms of their own men even.

They came upon Slo. Their chatter meant nothing to me, but they seemed disappointed that Slo was already dead.

They shot him in the face anyway. I clenched my left fist so hard that my whole arm shook.

They weren't far from Lake. _They'll move for him next_.

I checked my gun. _Point and shoot._ I'd never done it before. What if my aim was way off? _Just don't aim down._ Lake wasn't moving, but I wouldn't let them deface his body like they already succeeded with Slo's. I owed him that, if possible.

Sure enough, they spotted Lake, and targeted him next. I crouched down, and darted behind another tree. It gained me ten feet or so. I darted again as the rebels kicked Lake's body. The two soldiers started speaking more animatedly. I stopped behind a fallen tree this time. One soldier cautiously leaned over and grabbed Lake by the arm to turn him over. I raised my gun and tried to aim. But when Lake's body flopped over on his back, the two soldiers jumped back, suddenly on guard.

He groaned.

_Lake _groaned. A cocktail of fear and happiness surged through me. The soldiers kicked him in the side, and Lake grunted, but I couldn't tell if he was fully conscious. I knew he'd been shot at least twice.

One soldier leaned over and grabbed Lake by the hair. They laughed, running their hands over the strange mohawk. They must have felt more in control now. Lake didn't resist, but I heard him groan again. I started shaking.

I had to do something, and soon. They were having moments of fun now, but they would kill him. That horror made me so afraid, but I couldn't let that overcome me. So I brought the gun higher, and tried my best to aim. The tip of the gun wavered wildly. I gripped my right arm hard underneath my wrist. It helped to steady things a bit, but not much.

The other soldier drew a long knife. It was a bush-whacking knife, stained with old, dried blood. _Time, more time! _I swallowed. I was fifty feet away, at such an angle that I could be hidden, but it was only a matter of time until my luck run out. _Lake's will run out first._

As the knife lingered over Lake's body, I held my breath. My fingertip grazed the trigger until I gripped it with the bend of my finger. I squeezed.

It sounded like a rocket so close to me, and I nearly dropped the gun in surprise. Looking at my targets, I found I'd missed them both. They now stared at me, my position given away. I gasped and fired twice more.

I think I missed one shot, but the other hit the soldier with the knife. He fell back, alive I was sure, but down for a moment. I heard the two soldiers on the other side of the field calling out, but their comrade was focused on me. His automatic rifle came up, me in its sights.

And suddenly the sky lit on fire.

Something huge hit the earth, a rocket or missile or something, far enough from us but I still got knocked off my feet. The rumble of an explosion shook me hard. I could barely catch my breath. There was intense heat too, but I wasn't hurt by it—I could just feel the wave wash over me.

As awful and distracting as the explosion was, my survival instinct kicked in. I vaguely remembered jets flying overhead, but my eyes were on the rebel. He was regrouping. He gripped his rifle.

I raised my gun and squeezed my eyes shut as I pulled the trigger. I kept firing, waiting for him to fire back and kill me. When the gun went empty, I opened my eyes.

He was dead, long fallen to the ground. I gulped. In the distance, beyond where the rebel had been standing, were the other two rebels. They shouted from the other side of the field, pointing at me. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ My ammunition was gone now. I ducked to the ground, concealing myself somewhat. My hands started shaking.

"His gun," I heard. I gasped, looking to Lake. His eyes were shut, and his face was streaked with dirt and blood. Tiredly he opened his eyes, barely making contact with me. "Use it."

_What?_ It took me a few seconds to catch up. I looked at the rebels I'd shot. _Their guns._

I looked for the nearest one. It was an automatic rifle. Could I handle it? Creeping forward, I hoped the rebels wouldn't see me for awhile, since I was on the ground--

--but no luck. Suddenly they were there. One gasped, looking to his fallen comrades on the ground. The other raised his gun. My hand was outstretched for the rifle, but I knew I had no chance to actually grab it, defend myself, and remain alive.

He didn't even blink as he fired.


	7. Survival

a/n: I'm SO sorry this took so long. I hated the ending of this chapter, and rewrote it—which opened up some new avenues for this story, so hopefully it's a good thing. Please review!

Chapter Seven: Survival

I didn't understand what happened right away. I felt this burning pain rip through my leg, and I knew enough that I'd been shot. But in my leg? The rebel's gun had been aimed right at me.

I huddled protectively to the ground, wincing at the throbbing pain that I felt with the pulse in my leg, and hoping I wouldn't die. I heard a gurgling noise, and made myself look.

No one was standing. The rebel who shot me had a knife in his throat, a little left of center, but effective. The last rebel . . . _Where is he?_ I saw him running away, looking back at us or at the smoke and flames still coming near Cameroon.

I looked back at the fallen rebels, then at Lake. He was short of breath, grimacing. Even injured he was deadly.

Lake killed one, but . . . _I killed the other two._ I saw firsthand the damage a close-range bullet can do, and even more multiple bullets. Despite it being justified—kill or be killed—I felt sick. My eyes seemed to swim, and I couldn't focus. My stomach twisted, and I slapped my hand over my mouth. I didn't have anything to really throw up right then, but I was on the verge of being ill anyway.

"Jane?"

Thank goodness for Lake's voice. It grounded me a little, or at least got me past the nausea. _He needs help._

"Okay?" he asked. I stared at him. There were tears in his uniform, bullet wounds that tore through his right shoulder, his left arm, and another in his stomach.

"Me? What about you?"

He chuckled. It was a quiet rasp, and that's when I noted how quiet in general it was. The gunfire had stopped. I looked to Cameroon and the flames.

"What was that?" I asked, referring to the whole explosion thing.

"Air support," he said, and he coughed. It sounded agonizing. His forehead wrinkled and his jaw tightened.

"Lake . . ." He kept coughing. I glanced to his stomach. I'd heard, probably from TV, that stomach wounds were the worst. They took a long time to kill you, but were very painful. I grabbed my shirt, a button-up, and took it off, leaving me in a tank top that was as dirty as the rest of me. I pressed it to Lake's stomach, hoping I was helping.

He groaned.

"Easy!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

"Can you move?"

He hesitated long enough before nodding that I didn't believe him. But I looked to Cameroon. We had to get there.

I got to my feet—and fell right back down with a whimper. I'd forgotten about getting shot. My left leg was throbbing. I stared at it.

"You got shot," Lake said, and he was concerned. It was nothing compared to him, but that didn't erase the sudden fear I felt as the pain grew worse. _Grow up. You'll be fine._

My body shook though. I tried to force myself to focus on Lake.

"We have something in common, I guess," I said weakly. "Cameroon—can you call the others?"

His eyes fluttered, but he blinked hard once, regaining some clear consciousness. He nodded. Sluggishly, he brought his left arm up, but I saw the bullet wound there.

"Can I help?" I gave a nod at the blood seeping from his left arm. I moved closer to him, half-crawling to avoid jarring my leg. _I'm a wimp._ Lake looked down to his chest.

"There's a button there," he said, his eyes glancing down to a little clip on his fatigues. "Hold it while I talk." I followed his instructions. As soon as I pressed the button, he spoke into the radio collar around his neck. "LT? Zee?"

There was a desperate look in his eyes. He grew evener shorter of breath, and his eyes watered. "LT. Doc, Silk, Red, anyone." _Are they all dead? _I understood why Lake looked so . . . afraid now. _Please, please be alive. Some of them had to make it._ I let go of the button, and we just waited.

Lake shut his eyes. I watched his chest move up and down. The blood from his stomach wound, or whatever was shot, concerned me. It was a decent amount of blood. He was pale. Even his five o'clock shadow (or three-day scruff) seemed pale. I put more pressure on his torso. He groaned.

"I know, I'm sorry," I whispered. I clicked the radio button. "Try again." I'm sure he heard how wobbly my voice sounded.

"LT, Red. This is Lake." He started to shake his head. He was giving up, maybe more from grief if they all were dead. I released the button. And then he drew a sharp breath. His eyes were wide. "They're there." He smiled. "Hit it." He nodded down at the button. I quickly did as he asked.

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm hit. So is Jane. We're in the field." He signaled for me to release so he could listen to whatever was being said back.

My attention was drawn elsewhere. I heard something. It might have been there the whole time. It was a wailing sound. Voices, from ahead of us. _Where the air strike hit._

Survivors. While that might seem like a good thing, I knew it wasn't. Not for us.

Lake must have heard it too. He was looking off in the direction of the noise.

"Jane, the radio." I snapped out of it enough to hit it. Lake spoke to whoever. "Enemy still kicking. ETA?"

I let go for a response. Lake looked to me, then closed his eyes with a smile.

"They made it to Cameroon. They're coming for us."

Before I could be too relieved about that, the voices and wailing grew louder. Closer. Not right on top of us, but close enough that I ducked over Lake to stay out of sight. He looked at me uncertainly.

"They won't be here in time," I whispered aloud. Lake didn't deny it. _We have to move then._ I crawled over to the dead rebels, trying to ignore the guilt I felt about killing. I grabbed the rifle. My eyes went to the rebel Lake had killed with a knife, and it reminded me of the one I had still at my side. _I might need that. _I rested my hand on the handle of it, and then crawled back to Lake with the gun.

"If I help you, can you move?" He nodded. I got to my knees. My leg protested at the movement, but I bit my lip hard not to cry out. I put my arms around Lake, and helped him sit up. He groaned, but kept it quiet.

Without a word, we tried standing. I sucked in a breath with the weight on my leg. It hurt, to put it mildly. But I glanced at Lake, and saw him not uttering another sound. It hurt him, I know, but his sheer determination to hold it back anyway made me follow suit.

We took a step forward. I limped along, and thankfully Lake's legs were working, but he leaned heavily on me. His wounds were far more serious—in the back of my mind, I couldn't ignore that his every movement was probably making things worse for him. By moving now, I was killing him more.

Rebels spoke out loudly to the left of us. Lake dropped down, taking me with him. He groaned as we hit the ground. I looked for any sight of the rebels. _They're going to be ticked, if they find us._ They just suffered a defeat, and if they found anyone left . . . I shuddered to think of what that might mean for us.

I looked around for a better place to hide. If the rebels were alert enough, they'd see us easily. But aside from a few trees and tall grass, we didn't have much.

"They're retreating," Lake whispered in my ear. "They'll be trickling by the rest of the day."

I heard him pant, like the words were exertion enough. He was sweating more now, and his color hadn't improved.

We needed a place to hide. There was tall grass further away from the main path—if you could call it that—that the rebels had taken to Cameroon. As long as no one came that way, we'd be hidden.

"The grass," Lake whispered. I glanced to him—he was looking at the same spot. "Come on."

We had to crawl that way, but crawling involved a good deal of arm use. I looked hesitantly at Lake.

"Go ahead," he said, knowing his limitations. "I can make it." I shook my head.

"Let me help you."

He smiled. And then his eyes rolled back a bit.

He passed out.

-0-0-0-

Dragging Lake while trying not to inflict more damage on him or be seen was difficult. That, and I was favoring my left leg. Being shot sucks. I got us to the tall grass, as far away as I could from the main path of the rebels. Well, as far away as I could without passing out from exertion. It worried me that Lake was still out, but I checked his pulse a few times, and he was breathing too . . . .

When were the Americans coming? Air support came, so why not the rest? I kind of expected them to be here by now, but then again, maybe they were dodging the remaining rebels like I was. The sun was going down.

It started raining. The raindrops were heavy as they came through the trees. It pelted me. I was grateful for it though. I cupped my hands together, gathered what I could, and took a drink.

Heavenly.

I let some more rain collect in my hands. "Lake," I whispered. His eyes moved beneath his lids, but he didn't wake up.

"Lake, can you hear me?" I kept my voice low, aware of the noise in the distance of rebels traveling about. He opened his eyes. They darted around, taking in the surroundings, and then shut again.

"Still here," he said, and I wasn't sure if he meant that we were still in this field behind enemy lines, or that he was still here—as in alive. I carefully guided my hands to his mouth.

"Open up," I said. He opened his eyes first, and when he saw my hands hovering over his mouth, he obliged. I let the rainwater fall between my hands, and he drank. I waited for more rain to fill my hands, and gave him some more.

"Thanks," he said. His voice was weak still, and lower than normal.

"More?" I asked. He shook his head. So we sat, getting drenched and waiting.

"Why did you come back?" he asked. It came out of the blue for me. I wasn't sure how to answer, so I stalled.

"What do you mean?" He suddenly was more alert, and his eyes bore into mine. It felt accusing.

"You should have gone to Cameroon," he said. _He's scolding me on this?_ "You'd be safe there."

"If I even made it alive. We were dropping like flies, Lake," I said hotly.

"Shhh." He nodded out to the field. _Right, rebels._ I ducked down and lowered my voice.

"There was a bomb, or a grenade," I said, whispering. "It threw me off the path, and I just didn't get up quickly enough. I . . . it made sense to come back." There might have been more to it, but I wasn't going to analyze it right now.

His gaze stayed on me until I saw his eyes droop shut. I thought he was passing out again, but then he spoke.

"I heard them running past me," Lake said. I knew who 'them' was. "I was out of it. Those few rebels, the clean-up crew—" I assumed he was talking about the four we'd encountered. He opened his eyes. "Wouldn't have been a pleasant way to go for me."

He smiled at the idea, but I felt sick thinking about it.

"I heard you shoot, and I saw them . . . ." He opened his mouth to say more, but struggled. He tried a couple of times. "You should have gone to Cameroon. But thanks for . . ."

He trailed off. He closed his eyes.

"Lake?" I leaned forward and tested his pulse again. It was there. "_Kelly_." Maybe his first name would keep him grounded.

"Don't call me that," he mumbled.

"Open your eyes, _Kelly_," I said purposefully. He squinted his eyes open, glaring at me.

"Lake," he said. He shut his eyes again.

"I'll call you Lake if you stay with me, okay?" I could hear the patronizing tone in my own voice. I couldn't help it; he was fading. "Kelly?"

He sighed. "I'm awake."

"Open your eyes." He did. I wasn't sure if he was being stubborn about this or just plain delirious. _When is the army coming?_ I looked into his light green eyes. _Keep him awake._ "Why do you hate your name?" I tried to keep my voice down. The panic I felt was rising, but I didn't want to alert the wrong people to our position.

"Girl's name," he mumbled.

"You're a soldier," I said. "Probably the strongest guy I've ever known, and you're worried your name makes you seem girly?"

"I got flack for it as a kid."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, whoever teased you probably has a six-pack of fat now, so I think you're okay." He smiled.

Suddenly, I heard something rustle through the grass, so close to us that my whole body froze. _Maybe it was just the rain._ No, the rain was slowing down now, and the noise was louder than that. It came to the side of us, but slowly. And 'it' wasn't alone. I heard someone speak.

It wasn't in English, either.

Slowly, I ducked further down, next to Lake. Any trace of tiredness in his eyes was now gone. He leaned towards me, and his breath tickled my ear. If the situation were different, I might have taken that romantically. _No such luck._

Lake raised his left arm to the radio button on his fatigues—it must have hurt, because I saw him grimace and bite his lip. He clicked the button and whispered into the radio. "Danger close, danger close."

I waited for some sign from him that someone was answering. Instead, Lake just bit his lip again. He glanced at me and gave a slight shake of his head.

No one was answering.

The rustling moved away, but then came near again. _Someone is looking for us. Rebels._ How did they know we were here? Maybe we were talking too loud.

I reached for the rifle, but Lake jerked his leg to get my attention. Looking to him, I saw him shake his head again. _Don't move_. I figured that was the gist of it. I stayed still.

Foreign chatter started up, more boldly now. It came spread out to one side of us. I glanced to Lake, but he suddenly was paler, so much so that his face stood out to me even in the darkening light. I carefully leaned close to him.

"Are you okay?" I asked so quietly that I barely heard myself.

He didn't nod. I could hear his breaths coming in quiet, quick gasps. My eyes found his stomach wound—and it was still bleeding. _It's been too long. He can't wait any longer._ We needed help.

I stared at Lake. He shut his eyes against the pain he was suffering from. If the rebels found us, I wasn't sure if we'd live. But I knew for certain Lake would suffer more—and probably just be killed outright. He was an American soldier, a perfect target for the rebels, and with him being injured . . . If they found him, it was all—

Four or five men burst from the grass and moved to surround us. Their voices blended in a swirl of words I didn't understand. It didn't matter—I got the gist of it all. Rebels.

I leaned back so my body covered Lake's, and raised my hands. My heart pounded hard. _This is it. _Their guns were aimed at me and Lake.

Then they started arguing, with each other. I got lost in the cacophony of ticked off, angry voices. Three more rebels emerged, and I noticed a couple of them were injured. They limped or favored an arm.

The argument escalated. The group of rebels, 8 in all, pointed at me and Lake with fingers and guns. One of them grabbed a magazine of bullets and loaded it into his machine gun.

He aimed at us both. Automatically, I knew this was it. I stretched back, hoping maybe I'd be able to shield Lake from worse damage. Briefly, I wondered if he was scared as I was.

My eyes went to the muzzle of the gun. I heard the rattling a gun makes as you handle it, and waited for the flash of the bullets.

"No!" someone shouted. A flurry of foreign words came after that. I tore my eyes away from the gun. An older, stern looking man came to the soldiers. The difference I saw in the soldiers was immediate. They all stepped back and stood up straighter.

The soldier who was about to kill me said something back, and the stern man shook his head.

"We take them with us."

The man, who I assumed was the leader, stared hard at me and Lake. His gaze was cold and determined. I noticed he had fresh scratches and cuts on his face. Maybe he was injured by the air raid, albeit slightly.

The rebels gathered around us, and one yanked me away from Lake. My body felt weak and strangely detached from my control. They tied my hands together and brought me to my feet. I yelped at the pressure on my leg. The leader looked down at it.

Then he turned away.

The rebels handled Lake with the same care (or lack of it) as me. He groaned as they forced his hands behind his back.

"Careful!" I yelled. "He's been hurt!"

The leader turned sharply to me, and with one swift motion, slapped me across the face. It was a blur to me. The force of it was stunning; the barbarian held nothing back.

He turned to his soldiers and motioned to Lake. The soldiers turned to Lake and started wrapping up his wounds. It wasn't the soundest medical technique, but it gave me a little hope. Maybe it was worth saying something as I had. Maybe they wouldn't kill us.

The leader shouted something, and the soldiers surrounded us. I was grabbed on either side by my arms, and dragged along through the field. The soldiers supported Lake more beneath the shoulders, but it looked like it hurt him more than helped. His head rolled a bit, but his eyes looked wide and alert. He looked right at me.

For a brief moment, I saw the fear in his eyes, and then a wave of pain deepened it so much that I clearly understood there was really no hope ahead for us.


	8. Hauntings

a/n: Thank you so much for the reviews and feedback! It makes such a difference to me. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Be warned, it's a little intense.

Chapter Eight: Hauntings

After stripping us of any weapons (including my knife), the rebels dragged us to some trucks about a mile or so from the field. The pain in my leg grew, mainly from just being jostled over uneven ground; so I was actually relieved that we reached transportation.

Lake and I were shoved into the back of one of the trucks, with our escort. The leader disappeared inside one of the other trucks, and then we were moving. Lake pitched to the side with the motion. I tried to steady him with my bound hands.

His eyes were shut, but I heard him whisper: "Thanks."

"Lean against me," I whispered back. He did, flickering a glance my way, and then going quiet. He might have passed out again.

The soldiers chattered. I wanted to ask them who they were, where they were taking us, if they planned to kill us, and a dozen other questions, but I . . . I was afraid there would be some sort of punishment if I said anything.

-0-0-0-

What happened later will haunt me forever.

They took us to some sort of building on a sparsely-constructed compound. It might have been a military base for the rebels. The drive there was long enough that morning dawned and in the distance I could see a city skyline. Even so, I didn't feel we were in the safety of civilization.

We were put into a bare room with a shoddy roof that shed a little bit of light. It was dark otherwise, but I could see well enough.

We were left alone, and I was so glad.

"Lake, are you all right?" It felt good to finally talk without fear—as much fear, anyway.

He was awake, which was a feat in and of itself. He smiled faintly.

"Good enough."

He was lying. He was trying to be cheerful. I went speechless as it sunk in what that meant.

"Lake . . ." I swallowed. But then I saw his radio, the collar—the soldiers hadn't removed it! I scooted closer to Lake, and hit the radio button.

Lake chuckled.

"No one will hear us. We're too far out of range."

My shoulders sagged, and I released the talk button. Lake was watching me.

"Jane, listen," he said. "This guy, the leader? It's Colonel Sadick. He killed Azuka." _Arthur's father . . . the president of Nigeria._ My immediate thought after that was 'oh crap.' What the heck was I in the middle of? The man who overthrew the government now had me and Lake captive. I looked back to Lake. He swallowed hard. "If you have a chance, run for it."

I was going to ask what would happen to him if I ran. But I got the feeling Lake didn't see himself being around that long. The idea chilled me further.

"Jane?"

I couldn't find my voice, so I just nodded. He seemed satisfied with that. He shut his eyes. I stared at him, noticing now how weak he looked. It was a far difference from how strong and threatening he seemed when he found me in the jungle. Dried and fresh blood stained his clothing. It was a lot of blood, but maybe not as much as I thought. I just didn't know.

And then a bunch of people burst through the doors, and two overhead fluorescent lights came on.

Four soldiers, and two men in white masks. The men in white masks wheeled in a cot. _A cot?!_ Were they giving us 800 thread-count sheets too? It didn't make sense.

One soldier grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away.

"Hey, careful," I heard Lake object, but it sounded so weak that I wasn't sure anyone else heard it. The other soldiers grabbed Lake and lifted him up by his limbs. He struggled a bit, not as much as he would have otherwise. They cut away his bindings and laid him on his back on the cot. Then they strapped him to it with thick leather strips for his wrists, legs, chest and hips.

I froze. One of the men in white masks brought in something else. It was a cart, also on wheels. I saw flashes of metal instruments. I looked to the white masks and realized what they were—surgical masks.

Three soldiers stood guard around Lake and the cot. The men in the white masks began picking up instruments. They cut away Lake's shirt, and there was this thick, wet sound of the cloth peeling from Lake's wounds. I nearly lost it then.

"What are you doing?" I asked. The words helped me control my stomach somewhat.

They kept cutting away his clothes, cutting the wires of the radio, and removing the collar. I could see Lake's chest rising and falling rapidly. He pulled at the restraints feebly.

"Hold still," one of the men said to Lake. And then I saw a scalpel in his hand, moving for Lake's torso. A soldier shoved a piece of leather in Lake's mouth right before the knife cut into him.

He screamed, but it came out muffled due to the leather. The three soldiers stepped closer, holding Lake down. I struggled against the soldier holding me back.

"No, no, don't!"

Was this some form of torture? Lake wouldn't survive it! He couldn't struggle anymore with the soldiers and straps holding him down. I knew he was in agony though; he was screaming non-stop. Though muffled, it still pierced me to hear.

"Stop it!" I yelled. The soldier holding me shoved me hard against a wall. My leg hit it, and I crumpled to the floor with a yelp.

"Quiet," he said, in a clipped, heavy accent. "They fix him."

_Fix him?_ Were they? The men in masks moved steadily, apparently unmoved by Lake's cries. Their hands quickly dug in with instruments where they'd cut Lake. I saw blood seep from the cut, though one of the men dabbed at it with some gauze.

"Doctors," the soldier next to me added. While they looked like doctors, they didn't act with the ethics of one.

"Then give him anesthesia," I said.

The soldier didn't bat an eye. "They cannot."

_What?_ "Why not?"

"Colonel Sadick's order."

Maybe this was torture. I looked at the horrific scene before me. Lake stopped screaming, but he still groaned with each poke and prod from the "doctors." _Please, pass out._ I was afraid the pain would finish him off.

"What about blood?" I asked. "He's lost so much."

"No blood here," came his uninterested reply. How could none of them be repulsed by this? _These are men who butchered the village. _I felt tears wet my eyes. I should have been furious, but I was beyond that. These people were past feeling—maybe they considered this charitable.

"What about my blood?" I asked. I shuddered—I hated needles, but I couldn't be a coward about such a little detail. One of the "doctors" looked up. His eyes locked with mine.

He said something in Nigerian to one of the soldiers, and they removed the leather from Lake's mouth.

"American," the doctor called to Lake, looking at his washed-out face. "What is your blood type?" I was surprised at how good his English was. He sounded educated, almost foreign, like a European accent. It gave me hope that he was asking.

Lake didn't answer. His head rolled from side to side, and he moaned. A soldier patted him on the face, trying to get him to focus. I clenched my fists but waited.

"Blood type, tell me," the doctor repeated. The other doctor just kept working, not missing a beat. Maybe Lake was passing out.

"Lake," I called out. His eyes opened in my direction. "Do you know your blood type?" His eyes started to roll back, and then they shut.

"AB+."

Hope surged through me. I looked to the doctor.

"I'm A+." I only knew that because I almost signed up with the Red Cross for a humanitarian assignment, and it was one of those things that came up in the interview process. How grateful I was for that now.

The doctor stared hard at me. And then he nodded.

Lake went still, but I saw the doctor check for his pulse. He was alive.

While one doctor continued working, the other instructed that I stand next to Lake. I did, cringing at the pain in my leg. I hoped my blood wasn't infected from the bullet wound, but given the alternatives, I didn't think Lake would complain. The soldier guarding me gave me a little support.

After they cut the bindings around my wrists, the doctor inserted a needle into the crook of my arm. My lip quivered at the stinging pain, but I didn't want to be so cowardly right now. Behind the needle was a clear plastic tube, and the other end was another needle. They inserted it right into Lake's arm. I thought they'd filter it or something, but I guess they didn't care. My blood just siphoned directly to Lake's veins.

I stood there for ten minutes, giving blood in a way that would make any Red Cross worker faint. I started to feel weak, but that might have been because of the bullet the doctors pulled from Lake's stomach. They dropped it on the floor.

I think I passed out then.

-0-0-0-

I woke up to blinding pain. I tried to fight it, but it just hurt more.

"Hold still!"

I froze, but my eyes shot open. A man in a white mask sat by my leg, a sharp utensil in hand. I was out of it enough that I thought he was a cannibal.

But it was a scalpel in his hand—the doctor.

I clenched my fists and teeth. My whole body was tense. The doctor put down the scalpel and picked up some thin forceps. I whimpered as he put those in my left leg.

He brought them out again with the bullet that hit me back at the field by Cameroon. I stared at it, the bloody chunk of metal. Without a smile of victory or any expression, the doctor dropped the bullet on the ground. It instantly reminded me of Lake's bullet, and I whipped my head around to see him.

I made myself watch him while the doctor stitched and bandaged my leg.

Lake wasn't awake, but his chest moved with his breathing. The cot was lower now, I guess one of those adjustable beds you see in an ambulance. There was an ugly stitched-up gash across his stomach, some of it jagged from the wound itself. It was still bloody, but there were wipe marks, like someone had tried to clean up a little.

The rest of Lake's shirt was gone. His shoulder was bound better now. I hoped they cleaned it out a little. His left arm was wrapped too.

"Will he be all right?" I asked. I looked to the doctor.

He finished tying off the gauze on my leg, and shrugged. With that, he left. Two soldiers who I hadn't noticed left as well. The overhead lights turned off, and Lake and I were alone again.

I examined my leg. There were slits cut in the pant-leg, showing off the bandage. I didn't want to think about how my flesh would scar, but at least I was fixed up. I tried to stand, and then thought better of it. Guarding my newly fixed leg, I scooted over to Lake.

His color looked better. That surprised me. He wasn't as tan looking as he normally was, but the deathly pallor was gone. I glanced at his hair and it brought a smile to my face. The mohawk was suffering from bed-head. My eyes moved to his chest. I frowned. The leather strap was still in place. All the restraints were.

I undid them, carefully leaning over Lake to get the ones on his left side, and then scooting down to undo the ones at his feet.

After that, I wasn't sure what to do. Outside I heard thunder, and then rain started to drop through the questionable tin roof. It was still daylight out. I couldn't see the sun though.

_What now?_ I'd been putting the question off. Colonel Sadick was still in control. I wished the air support back near Cameroon had finished him off. But why did he take us alive? And also try to fix us up? For a brief moment, I wondered if he was as bad as Lake said. _You are so naïve._ Sadick was bad, and there was a reason he took us alive. Probably not a good one.

I wondered if my parents knew what was going on in this part of the world. They would worry, if they found out. _With good reason._

_What about Lake's family?_ Or his team? I didn't even know who was still alive. I meant to ask Lake . . . Someone made it, right? I tried to remember if Lake had said anything, but I don't think he told me who answered our call for help. Whoever answered, though, did they know we were captured now?

More importantly, would they be able to find us? The uncertainty of it all really ate at me. Every person relies on some security or stability in their life. I felt like I had none left.

I glanced to Lake. No, maybe he was the only sense of security I had. Without thinking, I reached for his hand and placed mine on top of it.

The rain dripped down, echoing in the near-empty room.


	9. Leverage

a/n: I'm encouraged by the increase in reviews and hits on this story. Thanks so much! I hope it continues to be entertaining, or at least a bit interesting. :o) Thanks!

Chapter Nine: Leverage

The crickets in Nigeria are loud. I heard them singing at dusk, quite happy even though a violent coup had taken place in their country. I guess it didn't affect them.

Lake was still asleep. Every now and then I would check his pulse, just to make sure. He was improving, though, I thought. Hopefully infection wouldn't set in.

My stomach grumbled. I think I had part of an MRE yesterday that Red gave me, but that was it. Was it only yesterday we were with the American soldiers? Anyway, I was hungry.

Just then, the door opened with a piercing metallic shriek. A soldier took one step in, and set a bucket and a tray on the floor. Then he left.

I could tell the tray had food, but before I could get to it, the door opened again. This time, there were six soldiers, and Colonel Sadick. I shrank back until I was leaning against Lake's cot.

Sadick came right up to us.

"You're American?" he asked, more demanding than anything. His dark eyes stared me down. Behind him, I saw one soldier holding a camera. It was a cheap camcorder, meant for family videos. I got a bad feeling about it all right then.

"Yes," I said cautiously.

He moved right by Lake, and slapped him hard.

"Hey!" I lunged for Sadick without thinking. I tried to push at him, but a soldier grabbed me and then I felt a gun to my head. My breath caught in my throat. I tried not to let my fear show. Sadick gave Lake another hard slap, and this time Lake flinched. His eyes cracked open.

"Your name," Sadick prompted. Lake frowned. He wasn't quite with it. Sadick hit him again.

"No!" I couldn't help myself. The soldier near me quickly hit the gun against my face. It wasn't a full hit, but blunt metal against skin still hurt.

"Your name!" Sadick's tone was impatient. Lake was squirming, his arms curled at his stomach where I knew he had to be in such extreme pain. But Lake didn't answer. Sadick poked Lake in the stomach. I gasped, and Lake groaned loudly between clenched teeth.

"Don't . . ." I whispered. My heart hammered. Was Sadick going to torture Lake now? Kill him? _Please, please, no._ I wasn't pleading with Sadick—that was useless. I was just pleading for some hope. Anything.

Sadick leaned over Lake. His voice was low, but I heard him clearly. "Tell me your name." Lake's eyes flickered to the camera. As soon as he saw it, he clenched his jaw tighter and just shook his head.

_What is he doing?_

Sadick's face was expressionless. He simply turned towards me, and snapped his fingers. Instantly, I was forced next to Lake. The soldier guarding me cocked the gun that was at my head.

"Your name," Sadick said. He didn't have to say anything else. I held my breath, and saw Lake look at me. His light green eyes locked with mine. He looked so regretful, worried, pained . . . for a moment, my heart skipped a beat. Then he looked away, not at Sadick, or the camera, or anyone. He avoided us all.

"Kelly Lake," he said. Sadick smirked. He turned to the camera, suddenly going from interrogator to announcer.

"This American soldier has interfered in our country," Sadick said. "We know he was part of a larger military team, sent to derail General Yakubu's efforts to bring stability to the country." _General Yakubu? Who was that?_ The man's English was confident—delusional but confident. "I have reason enough to punish him under our laws."

He paused. _Laws my a—_

"Instead, I have treated his wounds. Kelly Lake"—he sounded out each syllable—"is alive. So is his accomplice." He gestured to me. The gun was still at my head, but Sadick didn't seem to think that was undermining what he was trying to convey. Personally, I thought it was hypocritical. Maybe I was just reacting to the gun at my head.

"I am willing to let them live," Sadick said. I didn't breathe any easier. I sensed a 'but' coming on. "I will even release them. But I expect something in return. Arthur Azuka."

A hard pit formed in my stomach. Lake was right; Sadick was evil.

"It is my duty to my country and General Yakubu to bring this fugitive to justice. Hand over Azuka, and I will release these two Americans," Sadick instructed to the camera. "If not, I will be forced to punish them for their crimes. You have three days. If Arthur Azuka does not return to face his crimes by then, the next tape you receive will show these Americans' fate." _Crimes? Arthur didn't do anything but run for his life._

Sadick nodded at the soldier handling the camera. It was turned off, and then the soldiers gathered around Sadick and followed him. I was shoved to the ground, and didn't move until I heard the bang of the heavy door signaling their departure. I drew a deep breath, and limped over to Lake.

"You okay?" he asked. Though it probably hurt, he reached up with his left arm and reached for my face. I guess there was a mark there from the soldier's gun.

"I'm fine," I said. My voice was shaky. Dang it. "Are you okay?"

His jaw was clenched tightly, and every few seconds his eyes shut partially like he was fighting some internal battle.

"Did they do what I think they did?" he asked softly.

"What, operate on you while you were awake and without anesthesia, or tape a ransom video?" I'm surprised I was so flippant about it.

"That answers it," he said. He lifted his head slowly, like it took more effort than moving a boulder, and peered at his stomach. His head fell back against the cot with a little too much force. He swallowed dryly, and I noticed he seemed a little green.

"Lake? Do you feel sick?"

He gave a short laugh, glancing down at his sorry condition. _Duh._ I felt pretty stupid pretty quick. But then he grimaced again, biting his lip hard so I could see his teeth.

"Lake?" He gasped. His eyes were closed tightly. "Is it the pain?"

"Talk to me," he said between gasps. "Anything, just . . ." _He needs a distraction. _Of course, even realizing that, my mind went blank. It took me a second to think of something.

"Who is General Yakubu?" I asked. "Should I not ask questions? Does it hurt to talk? I can just—"

"It's fine," Lake said, and I saw a brief amused grin between grimaces. "Yakubu is the new leader. Sadick is his 2nd in command." Great, there was a worse bad guy here.

He rolled slightly, I think to ease the pain from his surgery. What I wouldn't do for some codeine right then, I thought.

"Who will they send the tape to?" I asked next. Lake gritted his teeth.

"US Embassy."

"There's one here? We must be close to it then," I said. Lake nodded. "Will your team see it?"

Lake shut his eyes. "I hope not."

I wasn't sure what he meant. Wouldn't he want them to know we were okay, sort of? I cleared my throat.

"When you talked to them before, on the radio, who was it?" I asked. "Who made it?" I held my breath. I'm not sure who I was hoping to hear made it, but I knew not all of them did.

"LT and Red," he answered quietly. "I talked to them. I think others made it too."

I felt some relief. I thought of how stern both were, although Red had a more personable side. I wondered if Red was going to be ticked at me.

"Last time I saw them, Red was yelling at me to keep running," I said. "I think he might be mad that I didn't head for Cameroon."

"Can't blame him," Lake said. I smiled.

"I'm glad they're alive," I said. "I think they will be glad we are too, if they see the tape." Lake didn't respond. He looked away. I frowned. What bothered him about that?

I remembered the food tray then. I got to my feet and limped over to it. I noticed the bucket and figured out quickly what it was for—portable bathroom. Trying not to be grossed out by that, I picked up the tray and hobbled back to Lake's side.

There was this white mush, and then a tin cup of water. Some sort of fruit was on the tray as well, but I have no idea what it was. Cut in half, I saw it had weird, white seeds and pale flesh inside. I think I saw a worm wiggling around in it. The outside was yellow.

"Do you want something to eat or drink?" I glanced down at the options. "It's not much. I can't even tell you what this is, but . . ."

Lake hesitated. He glanced at the tin cup. I picked it up and brought it to his lips. He sipped a little. My eyes strayed to his chest, but I forced myself to concentrate.

I took a sip next, and set down the cup. I frowned at the yellow fruit.

"What is this?" I held it up for him to see. Lake smiled.

"Guava."

"Really?" That surprised me. "I always thought guava was . . . I don't know. Isn't it pink inside?"

"Sometimes."

I eyed the slight movement of the worm inside the fruit.

"There's a worm in this," I announced tensely.

"It won't kill you," Lake said. I heard a touch of humor in his voice. I glared semi-playfully at him, and then took a bite. It was bitter, and the white seeds were kind of slimy. I tried not to think of the worm as I swallowed.

I put the guava in front of his mouth. "Your turn."

He shook his head. "Not sure I should eat."

"Want the mush instead?" I scooped up a spoonful of it for him to see. He actually laughed. Of course that made him cringe in pain. I dropped the spoon.

"Sorry." I fiddled with my hands, wishing I could do something useful. He writhed a bit more. _Talk! Distract him._

"So what are our chances of getting out of here?" Maybe I could get him thinking about something instead of pain. "I mean, I doubt they'll give up Arthur, right?"

Lake shook his head. "We're on our own." His statement was succinct enough that it killed any hope I had.

"They won't rescue us?"

Lake shook his head. "Not when Sadick and Yakubu have us. They might not be able to find us anyway."

"How is this different than you guys coming before? At the village, or to save Lena?" Wasn't that their whole mission before?

There was a sorrow in his eyes. "If they came now, it would be violating any chances at diplomacy."

"Diplomacy? With the guy who assassinated a government?" Did they want to be diplomatic with Yakubu or Sadick? 

"If he's in power, the country has to keep its options open."

Stupid US policy. I think I muttered that out loud, because Lake chuckled. My mind kept going though. Would LT or Red really just stand down when we were in danger? I saw the bond between the whole team. They were coming for us back at the field. Why not now? With the enemy in the picture or not, wasn't there some code about not abandoning your man? I'd seen the team in action. If anyone could rescue me and Lake, it was them.

Granted, if they were hurt, they wouldn't come themselves. But there were more soldiers, right?

"What are you thinking?" Lake asked. I looked to him instead of off to the side where my thoughts had taken me.

"Do you really think they'll just leave you?" I asked. "They're your friends. And it's your team."

"We're SEALs first," he said. I blinked. _SEALs?_ "Sometimes there are acceptable losses."

He was reciting some company line—the soldier in him was loyal.

"You guys are SEALs?" I asked. I knew they were good, but something about the title . . . .

"You didn't know?"

I shrugged. "I knew not to mess with you guys, but that's it."

He smiled again. "Just so you know, it'd be better if Sadick didn't know what I am." I frowned. "I shouldn't have said anything at all, but . . ." He trailed off. There was a distinct look of regret on his face. Guilt even.

"It bothers you, telling them your name," I said. "Why? He would have hurt you more. And probably me." I shuddered, thinking of the gun at my head. That was happening too often lately.

"There are certain things I'm trained to do, and not to do," he said. "You never give in to the enemy."

I almost laughed. "That wasn't giving in."

Lake looked sharply at me. "They have it on tape. They'll think I've been broken."

_Broken?_ Like in an interrogation? Suddenly it made sense. Lake was afraid he'd broken the rules, that he'd betrayed his team or country. Or he was afraid that anyone who saw the tape would think that.

He was afraid he would be seen as a coward. It was so ridiculous for him to even fear that, at least to me.

"Wow," I said. "The social pressures in the military are sure different than everywhere else."

Lake frowned.

"Lake, you had to. No one will think less of you for protecting ourselves. For protecting me." I actually thought more of him because of it. That was hard—I already admired Lake a lot. "Come on. You just went through surgery with _no_ _anesthesia_."

He started to smile.

"Trust me, you're tough," I said. "I've seen it over and over again."

The smile faded.

"Thank you," he said.

I smiled at him. It warmed me to think maybe I was comforting him a little. Despite the way we'd met, he was who I trusted. He was all I had. And I guess I was all he had too. I think I got the better end of the deal, but then again, he was the Navy SEAL.

"So how are we going to get out of here?" I asked. Lake chuckled, even with the pain. His eyes started to shut. He was probably worn out.

"What?" I asked.

"It's funny," he said. "You hated yourself because you thought you were coward." _At the village._ I wanted to argue with him, but I bit my lip and waited. "But you don't give up. That makes you one of the bravest people I know."

My eyes went wide. He opened his for a second to see my expression, and then smiled to himself as he closed them again.

"We'll figure something out," he said. His voice sounded quieter, tired too. "Give me a few minutes . . ."

He dozed off.

I found myself staring at him. Did he really just say all that? Did he really believe I was brave?

Was I brave?

No. I shook my head to emphasize that. Lake was the brave one. I just had to survive. That's all I did.

As Lake slept, I tried to think of how to survive this now.


	10. Killing Time

a/n: This chapter was longer, but it seemed to go on and on. So I broke it up. I'll post the next chapter Sunday or Monday. Please review! And thanks for the wonderful feedback!

Chapter Ten: Killing Time

"Jane."

That voice sounded familiar. Low, slightly husky. I tried to place it.

"Jane."

_Lake. Dark brown mohawk standing out from a buzzed head, greenish eyes, Navy SEAL_. I suddenly bolted upright. Lake recoiled.

"Geez, just what I need, a heart attack," he muttered. I wiped at my eyes.

"Sorry. Must have fallen asleep." I tried to smooth out my hair, which I knew was in disarray. I wish I had an elastic band to tie it back. I glanced at Lake, realizing he wasn't where I thought he was. He was lying on the concrete floor, on the other side of me. I frowned. Before I could ask what he was doing, he spoke:

"I had to use the facilities," he said, gesturing to the luxurious bucket. "Couldn't quite make it back to the cot." He smiled sheepishly. I got up, hobbling to him.

"How long have you been lying there?" I asked.

"Fifteen minutes, maybe."

I was impressed he was able to walk around a little. That was a good sign, right?

I helped him to his feet, which was awkward because anywhere I touched him could hurt. But if it did, he didn't say anything. I wrapped my arm around his chest, careful to stay north of the stitches, and together we hobbled towards the cot. It was slow going.

"You should take the cot," Lake said. I glanced up at him.

"Are you kidding?"

"No."

I laughed. "Lake, that's sweet of you, but come on. You need it a lot more than I do."

We settled him onto the cot. Lake gasped a little, but he tried to hold back any verbalizations of his discomfort.

"How's your leg?" he asked. I looked down at it.

"Better. It's sore, but that's it."

"I figure we wait a day or two," Lake said, "before trying anything." He was talking about escape.

"That long?" I didn't want to stay around Sadick any longer than necessary.

"I can't walk to the door and back without falling," he pointed out.

"Oh." Well, he had me there. Unembarrassed about his weakness, Lake went on.

"Till then, we learn what we can to help—"

I heard footsteps outside the door, and then that loud creak. I sucked in a breath and turned to face whoever it was.

It was a single person. He spoke with the soldier at the door, and then came in on his own.

"Stay close to me, Jane," Lake whispered. I scooted back. But I recognized who it was.

"The doctor," I mumbled.

He came closer. I noticed his eyes immediately went to Lake's stomach, and then moved over his various bandages. Suddenly it occurred to me that the doctor never put any bandage or coverings over Lake's stitches. I wondered why. Wouldn't it stay cleaner?

"That looks better," the doctor said, gesturing to Lake's stomach. He came right up to us, and peered closely at the stitching. "It's seeping. Hmm."

I glanced at the wound, and yes, it was seeping. That grossed me out, but I got past it. Maybe Lake pulled at it too much when he moved.

"Can you bandage it?" I asked. I didn't get the same vibe from this doctor as the other soldiers or Sadick. I figured asking for some things might be all right.

The doctor shook his head. "Sadick wants it left uncovered."

That made no sense to me. "Why?" Wasn't that just going to risk more injury or infection?

"It looks worse this way, for the camera," Lake filled in. _Oh._ I was a little behind when it came to these things. The doctor dug something from his pocket. It was a small, clear vial. He took out a syringe next, clean and sealed in a wrapper. Lake shifted away from the doctor.

"Get away from me," he hissed. The doctor looked perplexed.

"What is that?" I asked.

"I don't care," Lake cut the doctor off.

"It's an antibiotic," the doctor said. "It's not much. You should have a lot more, but it's all I could bring without anyone noticing."

_Anyone noticing?_ The doctor filled up the syringe. I glanced at Lake, but he was looking right back at me. He wasn't sure if he should trust the doctor. I turned my gaze to the doctor.

"Why are you helping?" I asked. The doctor didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on the syringe, flicking it to get rid of air bubbles.

"Your chance to survive is better with it," he said. He looked pointedly at Lake. Slowly, Lake nodded. "Your hip."

The doctor moved for it, and I found myself turning away as the doctor tugged at the waist of Lake's pants. I heard Lake grunt once, probably from the needle, and that was it.

The doctor turned to me. He handed me the vial and the syringe, which thankfully came with a cap.

"Keep giving him this," he said. He pointed to the syringe. "Fill it to that line, no air bubbles. Every six hours until it is gone." Judging by the size of the vial, there weren't more than three doses left, but I figured that was better than nothing.

The doctor glanced at his watch, and then turned for the door. I stared after him. The door clanked closed before I could say thank you.

"Didn't expect that," Lake said. I looked to my watch. _Six hours._

"We should hide this," I said, waving the syringe and vial. I pulled up the thin padding of the cot, and hide them there. "Hopefully that will help you get better." I didn't need to say 'soon.'

Lake nodded.

"Are you still hurting?" I asked. He looked nearly comfortable, his arms by his sides. Of course, he couldn't really move his arms beyond that without some pain, I imagined. His left arm was a superficial wound, but the one to the shoulder would hurt if he moved it.

Lake looked hesitant, but he nodded. "Not as bad as before," he said.

That was good, right? I studied the stitched wound. It seemed pretty red still, maybe from Lake's trip to the 'bathroom.' But if Lake had a shirt on, you might not know the difference.

Of course, that thought instantly reminded me that he didn't have a shirt on. I expected any military man to be in shape, but he was beyond that. He was pretty ripped. I nearly giggled.

I looked away quickly, sensing that Lake was watching me. _Great, make things awkward, Jane._

"Tell me about your life back home," Lake said. Thank goodness he didn't comment on my ogling him. I coughed.

"Home? Really?"

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "It's just a little normal for all this." I gestured to the warehouse and our sorry state. Lake smiled.

"Exactly." He didn't relent, his eyes staying on me and waiting.

"Okay," I said. I took a deep breath. I wasn't sure where to start. I thought of my parents. "I'm an only child. My parents work at the local university, in Ohio."

"That's where you're from?"

I nodded. "Cincinnati. I finished school a year ago and decided this was the next step."

"What, being caught in the middle of a coup or captured by a genocidal maniac?" He said it with such a straight face that I nearly missed the humor.

"Neither," I said, stifling a laugh. "I finished school this year, and started looking for somewhere to go."

"What'd you graduate in?" His eyes started to shut, but he sounded alert still. I kept talking.

"Social work."

"You didn't want a government job?" he asked. I heard a bit of a mocking tone there.

"Government social worker? No thanks. Too boring."

He opened his eyes and smiled. "Can't complain about that here."

No, I really couldn't.

"So you left your family, boyfriend, friends—all to come to Africa?" Lake prompted.

"My parents and friends, yes. No boyfriend worth mentioning," I said. For some reason, I felt suspicious in how he said it, but it was thrilling. I tried to ignore it. "My parents were pretty worried. But my friends, well, life goes on. People move, get married . . . you know." I shrugged.

He was studying me, looking for something in my expression. I frowned, and he looked away.

"What will you do when you get back?" he asked. I grinned.

"I like your optimism." He smiled. "I don't know," I said. "I don't know what a person does, after all this." I really didn't. And I certainly hadn't thought about it. There were some experiences that just changed you completely. This would alter my whole life, wouldn't it? If it didn't, wasn't that bad?

"What?" Lake asked.

"What will you do?" I asked. Maybe he could help me figure this out. "Back to the military, or will you leave, or . . ."

"Depends on what the Navy wants," he said. "Probably take a bit of leave time. Visit my family."

You know, until he said that, I hadn't thought of Lake as having a family life. Family was broad—it could mean his parents, siblings, or it could mean his wife and kids. I hadn't thought of him as married, but what if he was? I mean, that would be great, right? Good for him.

No, I was trying to cheer myself up, and it wasn't working. Hey, he was the one who brought up a boyfriend. It was his fault.

"How often do you get to see them?" I asked. Maybe he'd clear this up for me.

"Not as often as I should." _Well, that didn't help_. "I try to spend as much time as I can with them, but I'm deployed a lot."

I forgot to smile and nod. He wasn't making this easy for me.

"Is it hard, being away from them?" I asked. Lake thought about it.

"Not really," he said. "I have my life away from them. They're getting older though, so I worry about them." My heart leapt. He was talking about his parents! I tried to contain myself and be cool about it.

"What about brothers and sisters? Are they close enough to help, if needed?" I asked.

"I have two sisters," he said. "They're both married, and have kids. That keeps my folks busy enough." He grinned. "It doesn't stop them from razzing me about not being married or whatever, but that's one perk of being away."

If my heart leapt before, it skipped a beat now. It was stupid, I know.

"How old are you?" he asked. _That_ was definitely suspicious.

"Twenty-four," I said, and in the back of my mind I knew I felt delighted at his questions. "I took my sweet time in college." Lake smiled.

Just then, it started to pour outside. The rain hammered against the tin roof. I glanced up, and saw drops coming down. I think dawn was coming now. The rain looked really inviting.

"I'd love to shower in that," I said, more to myself than anything. Lake chuckled.

"Me too."

There were two ways to interpret that. I blinked as it sunk in. Lake looked away, and I think I saw him blush through all the scruff on his face.

I smiled to myself.


	11. Changing Circumstances

Chapter Eleven: Changing Circumstances

Sadick returned a few hours later. The camera was with one of his soldiers.

"This can't be good," Lake muttered.

"What should we do?" I whispered. Lake just shook his head. That wasn't very comforting. As usual, the soldiers surrounded us. Sadick stood in front of the camera, while I sat next to the cot and Lake.

"Our intelligence reports the United States is protecting Arthur Azuka," Sadick said directly to the camera. _Intelligence_, I assumed, meant Yakubu's spies. "Protecting a fugitive at the expense of your own people is not what I expected of your government. _They_ will suffer the consequences."

He gestured to me and Lake. I gulped.

"Kelly Lake will be tried publically if Arthur Azuka does not come. The girl will be made to work off her crimes." I saw Lake's fist clench at that. I didn't quite get what that meant.

"You have two days left. After that, General Yakubu and I will have no alternative." The camera shut off then, and Sadick turned rapidly to Lake, swinging with all his might. His fist smacked into Lake's face.

Sadick shouted something in Nigerian, and the soldiers cheered. Lake nearly teetered off the cot. I grabbed his arm and then tried to steady him. Lake looked ticked. He glared at Sadick.

Sadick noticed. He turned back to Lake, saying something to the soldiers that didn't sound good. I looked to Lake, hoping he'd back down. But Lake just kept glaring back.

"Americans, acting like they control everything," Sadick said. His arm drew back.

I faced Sadick and leaned backwards over Lake.

"Please," I said. Sadick's hard stare shifted to me, and it didn't let up. His fist came right at me. I felt the smack and then saw nothing but blackness. I hit the ground before my vision came back.

"Leave her alone!"

I saw Sadick's boot come at me, nailing me in the stomach. But then the boots moved away. The soldiers followed him again.

"He needs a woman to protect him," Sadick said. That was a low-blow for a soldier. I heard them all leave, and then the doors banged shut.

"Jane?" I felt Lake's hand on my shoulder. I turned onto my back, looking up at him on the cot.

"I'm okay." I sat up, trying to ignore the ache in my stomach. Lake stared at me. He reached for my face with his left arm. I winced as his fingers touched the left side. "I'm okay, really."

Lake didn't answer. His jaw was tight, and he looked upset, but he was getting it under control.

"That's going to bruise," he said finally. I tried to smile it off.

"I'll live."

Lake tried to smile back, but his expression turned cold.

"Rest up. We have to leave as soon as we have an opportunity."

I frowned. "Why the sudden hurry?" The deadline Sadick gave hadn't changed. Lake could still use all the rest possible.

"It's time," was all Lake said. I didn't buy that. I glanced at my watch.

"Speaking of, antibiotics." I dug out the vial and syringe, and filled it where the doctor had showed me. But as I uncapped the syringe, I got cold feet. The sharp, metal point of the needle shook in my hands. What the heck was I doing?

"You okay?"

"Um, yeah," I said. "I've never given a shot before."

"Well don't tell me that," Lake said. He pulled at his pants, showing off a bare hip. "Just stick me where the doc did before." I swallowed. I wasn't sure I could do this.

"Why, um," I started, "why do we have to leave sooner?" I was trying to distract myself. The needle hovered over Lake's skin. He was turned as much as he could so I had better access.

"I don't think he'll hold up his end of the deal," Lake said. I frowned. That didn't make sense. Lake sounded nervous, but I don't think it was the impending shot.

"Are you lying?" I asked. Before Lake could I answer, I plunged the needle in the backside of his hip. Lake hissed.

"Geez, try harder next time," he muttered. I swallowed, and pushed the plunger down, emptying the antibiotic into Lake. I'm amazed I didn't faint when I pulled out the needle.

"Lake, tell me the truth," I said, capping the syringe. I hid it and the vial back under the cot. "Why do you think we have to leave?"

Lake tried to avoid my eyes, but I kept watching him. He sighed.

"If Arthur doesn't show up—and we know he can't—they'll kill me," he said. "There won't be a trial. But with you . . ."

He hadn't told me the worst of it. I waited, holding my breath.

"They'll keep you alive," he said. I still didn't get it. What had Sadick said?

"To work off my crimes?" I repeated. Lake stared at me, waiting for the light to come on. "Jail?" I guessed.

Lake sighed heavily. "What suburb did you come from?" he muttered.

"Well, sorry, but just tell me—"

"They'll whore you out," Lake said, and all my breath left me. _That was blunt. _His green eyes stared into mine, powerfully, hauntingly, fearful. "They'll rape you. Abuse you. Until you die or they find some other use for you."

My mind went blank. It was better than the images Lake's words had conjured up. I stared back at him, and slowly nodded.

"Oh."

-0-0-0-

As dusk was coming, Lake got up. I watched, ready to get to my feet and help, but he seemed all right. He walked gingerly, stretching a little but otherwise looking kind of stiff. I could see the muscles in his back shift with his movements.

He walked along the side of the walls. Every few steps he would stop and listen. Then he continued on. When he got to the door, he listened longer. He put his hands on the door quietly, and felt along the edges—more with his left arm than his right. The bullet wound in his right shoulder held back movement, but it didn't completely stop him from trying.

He came back to the cot on his own. I almost got up to help him lay down, but something told me not to. Lake was used to being on his own, self-sufficient. While he hadn't resented me for helping him before, he was in a different mood now.

"What do you think?" I asked carefully.

Lake looked to the tray of food by our cot.

"When did they bring that?" he asked. I thought back. Not even a day ago, but . . .

"Last night, before Sadick came the first time." I eyed the food. Sitting in a warm, humid place couldn't be good for food quality. "I wouldn't eat it at this point though."

Lake tried not to smile.

"I'm trying to figure out when they'll be back," he said. The embarrassment registered on my face before I could stop it. I had to look away.

Lake shifted on the cot. He grimaced and tried to get more comfortable. He inspected his torso, gingerly touching the stitches. His face was unreadable.

He kept quiet, just listening, and looking around occasionally. I asked him what he was doing. He just said he was gathering information.

They brought a new tray of food, no more appetizing than the day before. Lake tried to eat a little. I ate some too. It really wasn't that good, but I was getting weaker and weaker, and my stomach hurt more than Lake's. Probably not, but I let myself dream about a cheeseburger.

Dawn came, again, and I gave Lake his last shot.

"You think I'd get used to that sting, but . . ." Lake shook his head. I liked that his humor was back.

"You should rest up," I said. He was lying down, and I could see his eyes were half-shut on their own. Throughout the night, I'd dozed on and off, but I don't think Lake did. Or if he did, not enough.

"I will," he said.

"Lake." I stared at him pointedly. "You're two days past a major surgery, in a third-world country, with little follow-up care. You probably shouldn't even be moving at all."

He smiled tightly. "Desperate times . . ."

I sighed.

"Do me a favor, and then I'll rest," he said. I was instantly suspicious.

"What."

He pointed at the food tray. "Clear that off."

I frowned. "Why?"

Lake just smiled. "You'll understand later."

-0-0-0-

I woke up because I heard Lake moving around. It was night time. I couldn't really see him till my eyes adjusted. But when they did, Lake was standing by the door, wincing in pain and gasping for breath. His arm was cradled around his stomach, and he fell back to lean against the wall.

At his feet lay a soldier, eyes wide open, and his neck . . . It looked mangled and bloodied. The food tray was next to him.

Lake's eyes met mine. Between gasps, he said:

"Let's go."


	12. Prison Break

a/n: Thanks so much for keeping up the reviews. It keeps me writing! I think you might like this chapter. I'll get going on the next one too. :o)

Chapter Twelve: Prison Break

My brain was playing catch-up. Next to the soldier (who I was certain was dead) was the food tray, with blood along one edge of it. I tried to put the pieces together . . .

_Lake used the tray as a weapon._

_He crushed it against the soldier's throat._ I blinked.

"Jane," Lake whispered. I looked to him. Despite the pain that was radiating off him, he was on full alert. "We have to move. Now."

It took me a second, as if I was deliberating about it, which was stupid. I got to my feet and went to him. My leg ached with each step, but there was no time—Lake had given us our chance to escape.

"Are you all right?" I asked, whispering back.

"Good enough," he said. I moved to steady him, but he shook his head. "See if he has a pistol."

I looked down at the dead body and swallowed. I tried not to look at the mangled neck. The soldier was young. I hadn't seen him before.

There was a machine gun draped across his chest. I started for it.

"No, not that one. Something light," Lake said. I heard him groan, but I could tell he was trying to cover it up. I noticed a holster for a gun at the soldier's thigh. I pulled the gun from it, and passed it to Lake. "Good. Follow me."

I still felt about five seconds behind Lake. What was he doing? He couldn't be moving on his own, not this much. But he poked his head out the door, and then went outside. He held the gun in his right hand, which he kept at his side.

The crickets sounded louder now. I followed Lake and his stumbling footsteps. Our little holding area was in the middle of several other similar buildings. I saw a few rebel soldiers patrolling. Lake motioned for me to stop. We hugged the wall of one building. I could hear snoring within.

Lake touched my hand. He nodded to our left, and then led the way. We passed the door into one of the buildings, and suddenly it swung open.

I nearly shrieked. Lake grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the door. We both held still as a soldier stumbled out of the building. Lake slowly brought his right arm up, aiming the gun at the back of the soldier's head. His arm shook, the strain bothering him.

The soldier swiped at his eyes, never turning to look behind the door where we were. I heard him yawn. He was starting his patrol. Lake lowered his arm.

He squeezed my hand. We moved backwards, our eyes never leaving the soldier who would see us if he barely turned back. We slid around the corner.

Lake led me past a few other buildings, stopping and waiting some times, and then moving forward towards a perimeter fence. I eyed the fence warily. It was tall. Lake was in no condition to scale it, and with my gimpy leg, I didn't know how good I would be either.

We came to the fence. Barbed wire topped it off. There was no way, not without getting hurt more. I looked to Lake, the question clear enough in my eyes that he said:

"We'll find a way."

We'd have to find it quick. With the soldiers on patrol around the camp, we were just targets for discovery. Plus, someone was bound to see the guard Lake had killed.

Lake picked up the pace. I limped behind him just as quickly. Lake looked in every direction, like the most cautious defensive driver ever. I found myself looking over my shoulder. I saw a guard in the distance, but he was moving behind a building. We were okay, for now.

"Up here," I heard Lake say. We went a bit further until we reached a gap in the fence, where it's supposed to meet the ground. The ground had a dip in it, giving about an 18 inch opening. "Go," Lake said, and I dropped on my stomach and crawled through. The bottom edge of the fence brushed the top of my head. I ducked further and got to the other side.

Lake got down. He looked pale again, but it might have just been that everything looked pale against the night.

"Slide on your back," I suggested. Lake did. I reached for his shoulders and tried to be gentle to pull him through. He moved pretty well on his own, until the bottom of the fence scraped over his stomach. He groaned, but I heard his teeth clamp shut to muffle the noise.

I moved to the fence and tried to pull up so he could move a little easier. His wound looked like it was still closed, although there was a fresh scratch on the right side.

Just then, I heard several voices from the middle of the buildings where we'd been held. I stared in that direction. Figures were moving about, and I heard the voices rising.

"Come on," Lake said. He was back to his feet, but clutching his stomach. He grabbed my arm; the touch grounded me to the urgency of our escape. I was so afraid a spot light would shine down on us and a swarm of angry rebels would surround and capture us. "Jane, hurry!"

I stumbled, grimacing at the jarring in my leg, and followed Lake. I looked back at the rebel camp.

"Don't do that," Lake whispered. He pulled me ahead of him.

"What?" I asked. My eyes felt so wide, probably showing how scared I was. My heart raced.

"Don't look back."

I swallowed and looked ahead. We walked, ran, hobbled—whatever you want to call our uneven motion—towards the city.

-0-0-0-

The word was out. The rebels were on full alert about our escape. Jeeps and trucks roared by, spreading throughout the city.

Lake and I made it to the outskirts around dawn, although we had to stop and hide (and rest) a few times. It was amazing how quiet it was. Granted, it was morning and early still, but there was something about it . . .

I think the quietness was partially fear. No one was out and about, doing their normal daily routine. People were hiding. I saw a few faces poke out and watch as the rebel army rode by.

There was an old apartment building, a little more inside the city than the borders. Lake had insisted we move beyond the outskirts. "_It'll be the first place they look,"_ he'd said. We went inside, but Lake was still really cautious. He had the gun out, and he was in a half-crouch. We moved from the dirty, badly-lit entryway and up the stairs.

Above us a couple of floors, someone opened a door. Lake quickly stepped into an open doorway across from us. He pulled me in, and we stumbled back to a halt. I glanced around. We were in the shambles of an apartment. It looked abandoned. The doorway was open because the door was half-broken, hanging off the hinges.

The footsteps above moved down the stairs. Lake kept a light grip on me, and stepped back further into the apartment. We waited until the footsteps passed. Lake kept his eyes on the doorway, as if he was expecting someone to barge in. I didn't feel that would be the case.

"I doubt it's the soldiers," I whispered to him. Lake looked away from the door.

"Me too," he said. "But if it's anyone who supports Yakubu, they can report us." I felt like I was Anne Frank all of a sudden. Ordinary people might turn us in? "A lot of the people left alive by Yakubu and Sadick are all for ethnic cleansing. They'll want what Yakubu wants."

I shut my eyes, digesting that. _What am I in the middle of?_ It wasn't the first time I thought that. _We're in the middle of more enemies. _Potential enemies, but still.

"Are we going to the embassy?" I asked. Lake nodded.

"If we can."

_Great. _

My leg spasmed. I let my knee buckle and sank to the floor.

"Jane?"

"I'm okay," I said automatically. My whole body felt tired. Not that the escape was that grueling, physically, but the stress of it all was taking its toll. Lake sat down by me. I looked at his torso. The stitching looked intact still, but his skin looked all bruised. I heard that was common after surgeries, since it was all just blood beneath the skin, but it looked ugly.

"The embassy is in the middle of the city," Lake said.

"Of course it is," I muttered. Lake half-smiled.

"I know how to get there, okay?"

I blinked. "How?"

"Earlier this week, we evacuated some people from it," he said.

"If you evacuated people, is anyone left to help us?" I asked.

"Maybe. At least a few soldiers," he said. "Unless things have gotten really bad, diplomatically."

Personally, I thought things were already bad, diplomatically or not. I eyed his chest.

"How do we get there without people noticing us?" I asked, nodding to his bare skin. "We stand out regardless, but a shirt might help."

Lake grinned. "I think my hair will be just as obvious." Thank goodness for that humor again. It actually made me laugh. I looked up to that mohawk. Yeah, that was a problem here—not too many fugitive white guys with mohawks running around. Otherwise, it was actually growing on me. I looked back to Lake's face.

His eyes were focused on mine. There was a twinkle in his eyes.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I mean, come on. He'd seen everything I'd been through too. We were both neck-deep in it.

"I mean what I said: how are you?" That clarification did nothing for me. Lake must have seen it, because he chuckled. "You're not a soldier. You're not trained to handle this. I just want to make sure you're . . ."

I smiled. "Well, getting shot at and being held by a rebel government aren't the ideal memories I wanted here, but what can a girl do."

He smiled, looking away with a chuckle.

"We should keep going," Lake said. He started to get up. I groaned, but got to my feet anyway. My leg was so sore.

Suddenly Lake fell back against the wall. He tried to steady himself. I reached out to help, but he slid back to the floor. He swore under his breath.

"Lake?"

He shut his eyes tight. His face was strained. I could tell he was clenching his teeth. He started to stand again.

"Lake, no." I put my hands on his shoulders (minding his right shoulder), lightly pushing against him. His eyes flashed open, angrily.

"Help me up," he said. I tried not to let his sudden heated tone get to me.

"You have to rest," I said. "You're going to kill yourself if you don't."

"Jane, I know what I'm doing," he said. "We have to get to the embassy as soon as possible."

I didn't doubt him. But the pain Lake was in was more than a cramp. I really was afraid he would exhaust himself so far that his condition would worsen—or that he'd die. That was the last thing I wanted.

"One hour."

Lake blinked. "One hour what?"

"We rest for one hour. It won't make that much difference," I said. He scoffed.

"A second can make all the difference!"

"Shhhh!" I warned him. Weren't we worried about civilians turning us in too? He colored slightly.

"Sorry," he said, his voice much quieter. "You have to know, though. Every second we waste, General Yakubu and Sadick are increasing the guard around the embassy. They know that's where we're headed."

I didn't like the idea of Sadick and his soldiers waiting for us.

"They'll do anything to get us back," Lake said, "or kill us."

"What if you collapse?" I asked. I glared at him, daring him to challenge me on this.

"What if the only way to get us out is cut off?" He wasn't backing down either. "I can't protect you if everything's against us."

Desperation leaked through his words. I felt a lump rise in my throat. His eyes betrayed just how worried he was about this. He was worried about me. Protecting me. I couldn't remember my argument, staring at him. How could this soldier, hardened and cold, worry about a simple girl who stupidly put herself in harm's way? I didn't understand it. But I did understand why I felt the way I did.

"Lake," I started, and my voice wavered, "I don't want you to protect me if it costs you your life."

"Jane--"

"We've been through too much already and are still alive," I said quickly. "How much more can you take?"

He didn't answer.

"I don't want to get to the embassy just to have you die there." And that's when my voice broke. I felt tears prick at my eyes. Quickly, I looked away. Stupid emotions. Why could I never get them under control? If I wasn't shaking in my boots with fear, I was tearing up at—

Lake touched my face, gently turning me back towards him. I blinked back the moisture in my eyes. There was a slight smile to his lips, almost like he was amused by something. My instinct was to cuss him out if he was laughing at me, but then he pulled me closer.

He leaned towards me and I to him. His eyes were searching mine, and his face was just inches away, but waiting. I realized how beautiful his green eyes were, even more when they stared at me like this. My heart was thudding hard in my chest, but I barely noticed. I smiled softly. Lake's smile widened for just a second, and then he kissed me.

I've been kissed before. I've thought I was in love before. But something about this was different. Deeper. I've heard people doubt how clear your heart or mind is when you're in an intense situation. Maybe I wasn't too clear on things. But as Lake and I kissed, there was a tenderness I've never felt with any other guy. I never would have guessed Lake, a Navy SEAL, would be this way, especially not when we first met. I savored the feel of his lips--

The building shook as an explosion rattled Lake and I apart.

"Stay down!" Lake hissed. The explosion happened outside. I could hear the debris still falling. Lake moved to one battered window, staying out of sight as he looked to the street.

"What is it?" I whispered.

"We can't stay," he said. He scrambled to me, wincing the whole time, but I figured now wasn't a time to argue about health. "They blew up a business across the street."

_Why?_

"An American business," Lake added, as if he could sense my confusion. "We have to get to the embassy."

With one hand, he grabbed the gun we'd taken from the soldier back at the rebel camp. With the other, he grabbed my hand and squeezed it once. Then we waited for an opportunity to get away.


	13. Bad to Worse

a/n: Mandamirra and rice, thanks for your encouraging messages and reviews! And everyone else, what happened? I'm starving here. :o) Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter ready!

Chapter Thirteen: Bad to Worse

Apparently, when a government opposes a foreign influence, it's not uncommon for things to escalate. Foreign citizens leave the country before they're targeted. And then the government starts targeting whatever is left—homes, businesses, anything that represents the foreign 'evils' they're against.

So Yakubu was now burning abandoned American businesses. This was bad. I just didn't know how bad.

Lake held my hand tightly as we weaved through the streets. We could hear fires burning in different parts of the city, and cheering too. The cheering freaked me out. It sounded like one of those rabid baseball games where the fans go primal.

Lake stumbled frequently, but played it off with a quick change of course, darting behind something like he meant to. I was too afraid to question him—he was getting us to safety.

Or we thought.

Creeping down an alley that was full of trash, a dead body, and three rusted cars, Lake and I stopped in our tracks. I was out of breath anyway, but I nearly hyperventilated at what was in front of us. The embassy—the US embassy—was on fire.

I think my jaw dropped open. I felt Lake's grip on my hand go slack. Rebel soldiers stood watching the burning embassy. A few fired bullets into the air.

Colonel Sadick stood observing it all. I could see him clearly, maybe 20 yards away. I stepped back, fearing we'd be seen. As if sensing us, Sadick looked our way. Lake leaned back by me. I held my breath, watching Sadick.

His eyes searched. I thought he could see right through me. He took a step towards our alley.

"Get ready to run," Lake whispered in my ear. I heard a twinge of pain in his tone, but my attention was locked on Sadick. The colonel took another step towards the alley.

Something exploded on embassy property. Judging by the metallic debris flying around, I'd guess it was a vehicle. Sadick instinctively reacted by turning towards it; Lake instinctively grabbed my hand and led me back down the alley.

We weaved around the back of some bakery and a sewing shop. Odd combination, but it was there. I could hear the flames eating the embassy. Random gunfire and shouts still added to the noise. My mind flew with bits and pieces of new worries. Wasn't setting the embassy on fire an act of war? Embassies were foreign soil. I think I'd seen an episode of _24_ about that—at least one episode.

Suddenly Lake collapsed.

He hissed as he went down. He tried to catch himself from falling, grabbing at a shopping cart that cluttered the road. I reached for him, catching him just enough to ease his fall as we both hit the ground.

Lake groaned.

"Sorry," he muttered. I got to my knees and looked him over. His skin was covered in a light mist of sweat. His face was paling again, and his jaw was clenched tightly.

"Lake, what is it?" I knew he was hurting. He was pushing himself too hard, and you could only do that for so long. It'd been long enough.

"Just weak," he said.

"And?" I glanced at his stomach. The bruised area didn't look any different. There was a twitch at Lake's mouth—not sure if it was amusement or agony.

"We should hide," Lake said. "Till we figure out what to do." Someone down the street was talking loudly. We were in plain sight. I grabbed Lake carefully by his arm and we got moving.

That's when my leg started cramping up. As if the bullet wound hadn't done enough damage . . . My eyes watered at the sudden flare of pain, but I hopped along with Lake.

The buildings around us looked nicer. I wasn't sure what part of town this was, but it also was getting busier. Even with a coup and an attack on an embassy, people were coming out. We couldn't risk being seen.

We hurried down the entrance of an underground parking area. Above the parking was a nice four-story building. I wasn't sure what it was for. There were several cars in the garage though. We picked the closest one to hide behind.

Lake leaned against the wall and just slid down. It was better than falling, but he barely had the strength to stay upright anymore.

"Lake?"

His eyes were closed, but he was breathing. "Should have gotten there sooner," he muttered.

"Where?"

"Embassy," he said. "Shouldn't have stopped."

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see. "We're both injured. Even if we hadn't stopped, no way could we beat the soldiers to the embassy."

"Maybe. Maybe not," he said.

"No," and at that he opened his eyes wearily. I looked directly at him, not wavering for once. "We probably would have been caught before going in. Or we'd be burning in what's left of the embassy."

Lake shook his head. His mohawk drew my attention whenever he did that.

"We should . . ." He tightened his grip on my hand. I could tell he was blaming himself. I sat next to him, never letting go of his hand. His grip was weaker, but there was still a comfort, a security, in the gesture.

Lake looked down at our intertwined hands. I found myself looking at him instead of our hands. His face betrayed how hopeless he felt. He looked lost, but unwilling to look at me or admit it. And I knew he didn't know what to do anymore.

For three seconds, I stopped breathing. For three seconds, I felt that capture, torture and death were inevitable. For three seconds, I imagined what Lake was feeling. For three seconds, I saw Sadick chasing us with a full platoon of soldiers.

On the four second, I tried to think about Lake and how we would survive this, given our new and continually deteriorating situation. I saw how tired he was. I don't know what he did before we met, but for the past few days, he was hiking through the jungle, leading his team and refugees around danger, constantly on alert. I don't know if he ever got rest, except when he was injured and unconscious.

I imagine adapting is a big deal in SEAL training, or any military background. Lake had adapted every time. He'd protected us—me especially—and got us out of Sadick's control. Now it was my turn.

As that resolve came, I felt a little daunted. Could I get us past the latest dangers? I had no idea how.

And then Lake started to slump over. I lunged for him, pulling him towards me. His grip tightened painfully around my hand. I think it was a reaction to the agony he was in.

"What's wrong?"

He grunted. I pulled him towards me more, shifting so I could lay him down. He rested on the dirty parking garage floor, his head in my lap. He was shaking a little.

"Lake, how do you feel?" My eyes darted over his body again. "Tell me, please."

He shook his head. "I'm fine. Just cold." I eyed the sweat glistening on his chest. He felt cold, but was hot enough to sweat. _Fever?_ Maybe he was fighting an infection. Crap, how was I going to help him?

My resolve was breaking, mainly because of the fear pounding away at it. _Stop it, Jane!_ As tempting as it was, I couldn't just sit there and cry.

_Think!_

Random ideas started to flood my mind:

Call for help. That was thrown out the window. There wasn't a 911 I could dial without bringing Sadick or angry rebel sympathizers straight to us.

Find someone human enough to help us. _Too risky._

Contact the US Army somehow. Short of 1-800-GO-ARMY, I didn't know who to call. Besides, calling the army would only put more soldiers in danger. I wasn't above that—Lake and I needed the help—but something told me this country was a hot zone for danger of all kinds. I was afraid even if we could call for help, none would come, or we'd be denied because of some potential diplomatic fallout.

I glanced down at Lake. He was asleep. Wow, he was too tired to even argue with me about not needing rest.

_Jane! Think!_ My scolding worked.

I couldn't believe Sadick had burned the embassy. If I was right and that was an act of war, Sadick was giving the US a reason to invade—probably wouldn't go that far, but it was stupid. It showed how desperate Yakubu and Sadick were to get Arthur Azuka back, or to get us back—all to eventually control the whole country.

I hoped no one was at the embassy. I hoped even the soldiers Lake thought might be there were evacuated.

And then the light bulb came on. The US embassy wasn't the only embassy in Nigeria. Right? Sure, we're a super power, but not the only one. Was there another embassy we could go to? Claim asylum? Protection from psycho Sadick and Yakubu?

I looked to Lake again. He was still shivering.

"Lake?"

His eyes cracked open.

"Stay here," I said, although we both knew he wouldn't be running around on his own for awhile. "Rest up. I'm going to see what I can find." I was going to do a little more than that, but I knew he'd try to talk me out of it.

"Don't go far," he said. His eyes shut again. I took a look at the angry scar on his torso, the bound bullet wounds on his arms, and the bruises on his face from where Sadick had hit him. _Please, please, hang in there._ I leaned over him and kissed him on the forehead.

"I'll be back soon," I whispered.

The hardest thing I did next was walking away from him. What if someone found him while I was gone? What if Sadick captured him? What if Lake got worse, and had no one to help him?

I reasoned that if I didn't do something to get us home, Lake wouldn't recover.

I left the garage, peeked around the building's corner, and hobbled down the street.


	14. Plan B

a/n: Thanks for the reviews! I feel like the last few chapters dragged, but I'm excited for what's ahead. Let me know what you think. Thanks!

Chapter 14: Plan B

This was my first time in awhile without Lake. I felt vulnerable. If someone saw me or started chasing me, I didn't know what I'd do.

I didn't know what I was doing, period! I was just hoping I'd find the answer as I darted from one hiding spot to the next. I was probably drawing more attention that way.

I glanced down at myself. Yeah, I stood out. I was a mess, and my tank top was wearing thin. But I stopped short when I saw something from the corner of my eye. Between two buildings, down an alley, were clotheslines. They hung up above the ground. I eyed some clothes there hungrily—anything to help change my appearance.

I climbed up a pipe—no escape ladder. I guess building codes weren't quite the same here. I got about five feet off the ground when my leg had to be used to push me up, and that didn't work.

I fell down.

"Uggh!!"

I wasn't going to let this stop me. Too many things were stopping me and Lake, and to hell with a stupid pipe! I clawed at the pipe and the wall it was attached to. Gritting my teeth as I pushed off my leg, I climbed about ten feet this time. The clothes dangled above my head. Sleeves were within inches—

I reached, snagged something, and fell as my hold slipped.

My back realigned when I hit the ground. But in my hands were three articles of clothing. Excited, I held each up: a green t-shirt, size medium. A faded pair of shorts, size small. And a large white t-shirt with paint stains on it.

I grinned.

-0-0-0-

If I was still in the States, I would have been watching a news report about the violent outbreak in Nigeria. But at this point, no American journalist would be crazy enough to report on-site about the burning of an American embassy.

However, a British journalist might be different. A female reporter and a single cameraman stood far down the street, half hiding behind a building but with just enough of the burning embassy in the background to show off to the world. I was across the street from them.

"This is Sarah Worthington, BBC News, in Nigeria," the reporter finished up. I could hear her accent from where I stood.

"All right, Sarah, now we really have to get out of here," the cameraman said. He put the camera into an open van. My hopes rose.

I had to get to them, without being seen. The army was busy outside the embassy, but Sadick would be a fool to think we'd just hang out right by it. He would branch out, wouldn't he?

I had the medium green t-shirt on. At least I looked a little different. The larger t-shirt was in my hands, to take back to Lake. I used it to cover my head and then darted across the street.

"Hey!" I hissed. The reporter and cameraman turned my way. "Please, can you help me?" They both stared at me like I was a raccoon that asked for filet mignon. I took the larger t-shirt off my head. "I need to get to an embassy. Preferably one not on fire."

"Who are you?" the reporter asked.

"My name's Jane," I said. I glanced over my shoulder. "Will you help me?"

I could see the reporter wasn't sure. She looked to the cameraman.

"What sort of trouble are you in?" the cameraman asked. That was a loaded question. I didn't know how much to tell them—they _were_ reporters.

"The worst kind," I said vaguely enough. The reporter looked to the cameraman. She nodded once. The cameraman looked to me.

"Get in."

The van was old but functional.

"I'm Sarah Worthington. This is Patrick," the reporter said. Patrick turned the ignition. "You caught us just in time. We're headed out of here right now."

"I know," I said. "Can we stop one place though?"

Sarah turned in her seat. She looked at me like I was crazy.

"My friend," I started, "he's hurt."

"Hurt?" Patrick said. "Is the trouble you're in the kind that will get us . . . in trouble?"

I hesitated, but I couldn't lie. I nodded.

"No, let's just go now," Sarah said.

"No, please!" I said. But Patrick was pulling off down the street, away from where Lake was.

"We can't risk it," Patrick said.

I grabbed the door handle even though the van was still moving, and slid it open.

"Then stop," I said. I must have been convincing enough, because Patrick stopped.

"It's suicide for you to stay much longer," Sarah said. I nodded.

"I know. But I won't leave my friend."

I started to get out of the van—

"Wait," Patrick said. He and Sarah shared a look.

"Where's your friend?"

-0-0-0-

Getting to the parking garage was nerve-wracking. I just expected something to go wrong every turn. It didn't though. We passed a military truck, full of soldiers, but they didn't even blink or slow down. I hoped our luck continued.

"Turn into that garage," I said, pointing ahead. Patrick did.

I got out of the van, my eyes on where I'd left Lake. But the car we'd hidden behind was gone.

"Lake?" I called out, half-whispering. I ran to that area, looking at the other cars, under them, behind them, but Lake wasn't there.

Patrick sat in the van, at the wheel with the van idling. Sarah got out.

"Where's your friend?" I could tell she was impatient.

"I don't know." I turned around and looked over the rest of the garage. "Lake?" I crossed to the other side of the garage, checking every car. I was underneath one of them when I saw something on the ground a few cars down.

I got up quickly. My knee buckled, but I made myself keep going.

"Are you okay?" Sarah said, but I wasn't listening. I stopped in front of one car. Lying on the ground was Lake. His eyes were shut.

"Lake?" I knelt down by him. His chest rose and fell, and I could tell he was shivering still. "Wake up, okay?" I held onto his hand, squeezing it, but he didn't answer back.

"Jane?" It was Sarah, coming behind me. Suddenly Lake sat upright, and in a flash he had the gun in his hand, aimed at Sarah's head.

Sarah gasped, and before she had a chance to scream, I fully expected a shot to ring out. But Lake stilled, blinking rapidly. He looked confused.

"Lake, it's okay," I said. His green eyes were cloudy until he focused on me.

"Jane," he whispered. His eyes flickered back to Sarah, on guard.

"They're with the BBC," I said. "They'll take us to the British embassy. But we have to move now." I felt like he wasn't understanding, but then he started getting to his feet. Sarah gasped as she saw Lake. She pointed to his torso.

"What happened!" Her eyes moved to his right shoulder and left arm too. Patrick got out of the van, and his eyes followed the same path. He looked at me too, noticing the dried blood on my pant leg.

"He got shot," I mumbled. I helped Lake up, though he seemed to be moving okay.

"Sorry," he said in Sarah's direction. I put an arm around Lake and we walked to the van. I could just hear all the questions Sarah and Patrick had, but they didn't push it. They got back in the van.

"You two should stay down," Patrick said. Sarah nodded.

"Good idea."

"Thank you," I said. I hoped they got how grateful I was, but it was hard to convey it now. I turned my attention to Lake.

I pulled out the t-shirt I'd stolen. He smiled when he saw it. "About time."

I grinned, and helped pull it over his head. My hands grazed his skin. It was cooler now, but sweaty. I wondered if his fever was breaking. He watched me as I glanced over him.

"Now all I need is a hat," he said. I stared at him. And then I laughed.

Patrick glanced at us through the rearview mirror. I remembered his advice, to stay down.

"Lie down," I told Lake. He leaned against me, and we both let ourselves sink out of sight of any stray eyes. "Why did you move?"

Lake smiled softly. "The car we hid behind moved. Figured I better change hiding places."

"You about gave me a heart attack," I scolded him.

"I might have passed out," Lake admitted. Yeah, he might have. I was willing to bet on it.

"Uh oh," I heard from the front seats. Sarah leaned forward in her seat. "Slow down, Patrick."

"What is it?" I asked. I popped my head up enough to see out the front windshield. A tank and three military vehicles were up ahead. Soldiers were in the street. "How far away is the British embassy?"

"We're here," he said. "But they're blocking us."

Lake pulled me down.

"They'll search the car," Lake said. That made my heart race, but Lake sounded so calm. I think he had another boost of adrenaline. "Pull over. We'll get out."

"We will?" I asked.

"Don't tell them anything," Lake said to Sarah and Patrick. "You haven't seen us. When you get to the embassy, tell the Brits two people will be coming in soon seeking asylum."

Patrick pulled over, and Lake started getting out. He couldn't quite stay on his feet, and I had to catch him before he fell.

"Lake—"

"Jane, we have to do this, or they'll be in danger," he said, indicating Sarah and Patrick. I glanced to them both. They looked bewildered, but they weren't stopping us. Lake was right.

"Thank you, both," I said, and then I shut the van door.

Lake and I moved slowly, but as soon as we were concealed by a building, the van drove off. I hoped Sarah would do what Lake said.

Lake's neck was tight, his muscles easily visible. He was in pain, as usual, but his eyes seemed clear enough still.

"Now all we have to do is get to the British embassy." He said it so jovially. I smirked at him.

"Sure, that's _all_."

We kept moving, trying to get closer to the embassy without being in plain sight.

"Good thinking," he said suddenly. I looked up at him. "With another embassy." Inside I felt proud, but we weren't safe yet.

"Will they let us in?"

Lake didn't answer right away, which clued me in to one way this could turn out.

"We won't give them a choice."

"What are we going to do? Hop the fence?" I asked skeptically. Lake nodded. The physical limitations of scaling a fence were on my mind, but Lake brought up another concern.

"Trick is, not being noticed by the rebels, or shot by the British." He quirked a grin. I stared at him.

"That's reassuring."

-0-0-0-

Entrances to the British embassy were guarded on the inside by British personnel, and on the outside patrolled by the Nigerian rebels. I wondered if that was allowed, but with the rebels being trigger-happy, I don't think anyone was going to challenge them right now.

I didn't quite understand what Lake's plan was. I noticed two cars parked outside the embassy by the perimeter wall, and Lake kept looking at them.

"When I tell you to, run for the wall," he said. There was that hard edge to his voice. "See the two cars?" I nodded. "Stand on the hood of the sedan, and jump up from it to the roof of the other one." The second car was taller. I feared I knew where this was headed. "Then jump over the wall."

The wall was six feet or so from the cars. I could see myself smashing into the concrete and falling flat on my butt on the wrong side of the wall.

"You can do it," Lake said.

"What about you?"

He smiled. "I'll be right behind you."

And then he walked back the way we'd come, leaning every few steps against the building wall. He drew the gun as he walked. I swallowed.

I watched him, afraid of what he had up his sleeve.

Suddenly someone grabbed me. I shrieked and came face to face with a Nigerian soldier. He said something to me, repeating it, but I had no idea. His eyes widened, and he let me go. I took a step back, and he grabbed the automatic rifle draped across his chest.

He shouted something, and the gun was brought up. I froze.

And then a bullet ripped into his chest. The soldier fell backwards.

I whirled around and saw Lake, down the alleyway. I could see his eyes burning from where I stood. Suddenly he turned back the way we'd come, and fired at a car across the street from him. The shots rang off, probably five of them, and then the car exploded.

Instinctively, I took cover.

"Run!" Lake shouted at me, but I barely heard it with the explosion. I saw him running towards me.

As my body took over, my mind caught up. He blew up the car as a distraction. Hopefully the rebels were looking at it now, and not me.

I hopped up on the hood of the sedan, and jumped to the roof of the other. The wall seemed like it was shaking, but I think my eyes were just rattling around with how scared I was. I leapt for the wall.

The concrete dug into my chest, but I had my arms over the top. Gasping, I pulled myself up. I almost jumped down on the other side, but stopped, sitting on top of the wall.

Lake was heading towards me. His pace was slow, but he kept moving. He stepped over the rebel soldier who had found me.

"Hurry, hurry," I whispered. I checked around me. The rebels near the entrances were fanning out. They headed to the diversion Lake created, but not all of them. The British guards were running around too, but no one saw me yet. I leaned down, still on the top of the wall.

Lake got to the hood of the first car. With more energy than I thought he had, he leapt to the roof of the other car, and without any hesitation, jumped right for the wall.

He groaned when he hit the wall. His hands grasped over the wall's edge, but like I had, he dangled on the outside. I grabbed him by the forearm.

"Hang on!" I felt him pulling himself up, and I tried to help too. I didn't want to think about his stitches ripping, or any worse damage. Gritting my teeth, I kept pulling, until his waist was above the wall. And then I just leaned backwards.

We both fell in a heap on the inside of the wall. All the air left my lungs. I tried to gasp and get air in. Lake was on top of me—that might have been half the problem. He rolled off, clutching his arms around his stomach.

"That hurt," he said between grimaces. I coughed, and suddenly could actually breathe again. "You all right?"

I could only nod.

"Don't move!" Footsteps hurried to us. I heard the familiar clink of weaponry, and then four British soldiers were standing over us.

"We're Americans," Lake said. His hands were in plain sight. Neither of us moved. "We need asylum."

The muzzles of the guns should have worried me, but I just felt a small measure of relief. We made it, to some sort of safety—safer than we were.

"On your feet!" one soldier commanded. I obeyed, my hands up in surrender. Lake got up too, but from the corner of my eye I saw him sway. I turned to him, just as his knees wavered and buckled.

"Lake!" I tried to catch him, but one of the soldiers ended up breaking Lake's fall. The soldier turned him on his back. Lake's eyes were shut. "Talk to me, Lake."

He didn't respond. I felt for his neck, and felt a sporadic pulse there.

"Kelly?" Maybe I could tick him off enough to answer. But Lake didn't move.

I spun around to the soldiers.

"He needs a doctor, now!"


	15. Fading

a/n: Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews! I apologize that this took a while, and I hope it's enticing. I'm working on the next chapter, so bear with me. Thanks!

Chapter 15: Fading

Outside the embassy, I heard a chopper. We were inside now, but I heard that distinctive_ whoop _of the blades. Two British guards carried Lake on a medical board—one of those you see for people who hike and fall off a cliff. I tried to go to his side, but one of the embassy employees stopped me. His name, he said, was Ethan Kimball.

"The chopper's here. They'll take him up," he said. Ethan was probably higher ranking than I thought, maybe the diplomat in charge or something. He had blonde hair that curled, a little too long. He was probably mid-30s or so.

"Where can we go for him to get help?" I asked.

"That remains to be seen," Ethan said. I glared at him.

"What?"

He sighed and took me by the elbow. Two guards followed us. I think they viewed me as a potential threat still.

"You need to tell us a little more about you," he said. "We're leaving because we're all in danger. Non-essential personnel were evacuated last week, but now things have gotten worse."

"You don't say," I said dryly.

"You told the reporter that you were coming, and then you snuck into our embassy. Why?" Ethan asked. He wasn't mean about it, but I thought it was the stupidest question ever.

"So the rebels wouldn't see us," I said. "We need asylum from the current Nigerian government. Remember? You're leaving too." Ethan shot me a look of annoyance, but oh well.

"Why didn't you go to your own country?"

"We tried that, but our embassy was burned down," I said. Yeah, no chance I hid the sarcasm there.

"Let me rephrase," Ethan said. As he questioned me, we started following the stampede of 'essential personnel' up a flight of stairs. I figured we were going for a roof. "Why haven't you evacuated yet?"

And that's where I hesitated. I wasn't sure how much to say. Maybe it was the caution that built up in me from being around the enemy. I didn't know if explaining everything might put us in a worse state. Or endanger Lake and what he does.

Ethan glanced at me, waiting for an answer.

"If you're concerned regarding your rights, I'm afraid you'll have to risk it," he said. _My rights?_ What, was he going to arrest me for . . . what?

"No," I said. "But how do I know how much to tell you?"

Ethan stopped. "What you tell me will help figure out who I call to get you wherever you need to go. If you're worried about confidentiality, we do our best." I looked at his eyes, wondering if I could determine if he was lying or not. But we'd come here for help, and he was the best we had.

We kept walking. I heard the chopper more clearly up on the roof.

"My name is Jane Sorenson," I said. "My friend is Kelly Lake."

"Military?" Ethan prompted.

"Lake is," I said. "We were trying to leave the country but ran into trouble with the rebels."

"What were you two doing here?" His question seemed strange, but I realized he thought that Lake and I were here alone in the country.

"I was volunteering in a village," I said. Wow, it'd been a long time since I'd thought of them. The screams, the burning, the dead bodies . . . "Lake was part of a team that was evacuating some Americans."

Ethan slowed down as we came to the roof top. There were two choppers. Lake and the guards were in one, and the rest of the 'essential personnel'—more soldiers—were in the other one. Ethan, the two soldiers, and I were all that were left to get onboard. I saw Sarah Worthington, the reporter, and Patrick, the cameraman, in the chopper with the rest.

"The American team, who had Azuka," Ethan said, "that was you?"

I didn't say anything.

"Okay." Ethan took me by the arm, and we got in the helicopter with Lake. "Let's go!" he shouted to the pilots.

I sat on the floor of the chopper. Lake was totally unconscious. A soldier put in an IV in the top of Lake's hand. I looked away as he inserted the needle. Ethan grabbed a pair of earphones. There was a microphone attached.

"Get me in touch with London," he said. "Secure line." As he started talking with whomever in London, I inched closer to Lake. I grabbed his hand. It was warm, but he didn't grip me back.

"This is Ethan Kimball. We've evacuated. Yes sir. . . ."

Lake's face was smeared with dirt and sweat. The soldier holding the IV bag lifted Lake's shirt. He froze when he saw the angry stitches there. His eyes crept my way, and I could only nod. The soldier cut away the shirt. Part of me thought at how much trouble I'd gone to get that shirt, but it didn't matter now anyway.

". . . two Americans. Jane Sorenson and Kelly Lake. . . ."

Lake's shoulder wound and his left arm were spotting with blood.

"Standing by."

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Ethan. He covered his hand over the microphone piece.

"They're tracking down his commander," he said, nodding at Lake. "They know all about this, apparently." He smiled, as if that was supposed to be comforting. Surprisingly, it was.

Faintly, I smiled too, and held Lake's hand tighter.

-0-0-0-

The choppers stopped on a dirt airfield. I didn't know who's it was, or what country we were in, but Ethan told me Lake and I were being flown to the Harry Truman. I didn't know what that meant. But another chopper flew us onward. My eyelids felt so heavy. I didn't let myself sleep, not yet. Lake hadn't woken up.

Vast dark ocean caught my attention. We were leaving the whole continent of Africa. I watched the land get farther away. I knew I'd never be back.

Ahead was some large object on the sea. It had to be big, because we were far away. It was getting dark, and it stood out.

"What's that?" I asked, shouting to the pilots.

"The Harry S. Truman, ma'am!"

It was a battle ship. Or battle carrier, or one of those things. I smiled at my ignorance.

As we hovered to touch down on the Truman's deck, I squinted my eyes. Someone was standing off to the side, someone familiar. There were others on the deck too, but this man drew my attention. I gasped.

"Red!"

I turned to Lake, squeezing his hand.

"We're safe," I said. He didn't stir, but I kept going. "Red's here. Probably LT too." He grimaced in his sleep. I gently touched his forehead. "Stay with me."

As soon as the chopper landed, I jumped out to make room for three people who went straight for Lake. They carefully moved him off the chopper.

"Jane!"

I turned to Red, knowing it was him. Relief flooded me, just being around tons of military or Navy types, on American property, everything. Suddenly, my eyes watered, and as Red put an arm around me to guide me, the tears started to fall. I hated myself for it. Didn't I have any control over my stupid emotions? But at least I wasn't sobbing. Red saw my tears immediately anyway.

"Hey, it's okay!" He had to shout over the noise of the chopper. "You made it!" He watched Lake being carted off. "There's a good doc on board. And Lena's still around. They'll check him out."

I nodded. I stumbled a little, feeling the ship rock, or maybe it was my leg. Either way, Red caught me by the shoulders. He looked me up and down, frowning.

"You look thinner," he said bluntly. "When's the last time you ate?"

"I don't know." How long ago was it? "At Sadick's compound." He frowned deeper at Sadick's name. I swear the boat pitched to the left next, because suddenly I was falling.

"Whoa!" Strong arms caught me, and I saw Red's face hovering over me. But he hadn't caught me. LT's face hovered over me too. I smiled.

"You made it," I said tiredly. LT chuckled.

"Let's get her cleaned up," he said to Red, completely ignoring my observation. I almost felt ticked off by that.

They led me somewhere below deck, to a female officer. I never caught her name, but she gave me a Gatorade and directed me to a shower. I made it through that, which would have been blissful after several days of not showering, but I was so tired. I think it was partially not eating much for days. All my energy was gone, the adrenaline far spent, and I really couldn't convince myself to worry about anything.

I got dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a Navy t-shirt that the woman had left for me on a couch. She'd said that someone was going to come back for me in a few minutes. As soon as I was decent, I laid down on the couch, thinking I'd just rest a little before they came. Then I'd go see Lake.

I don't remember a second passing before I was asleep.

-0-0-0-

I dreamt of Lake. I knew it was a dream, but that didn't mean I had any control of what happened. We were running to the embassy, the British embassy, but the rebels saw us. They shot him before he could make it over the wall.

My body was waking up a little. I could tell I wasn't alone, wherever I was. That made me jump a little as I woke up, back on that couch on the ship. My eyes scanned the room until I found Red. He sat in a chair, and he had a smirk on his face.

"You okay?" he asked. I sat up.

"Where's Lake?" Ow, my head hurt. I wondered how long I slept.

"He's in the med bay," he said. "One deck down from here."

I stood up. My body swayed. Red quickly stood and steadied me.

"Hey, hang on. You need food, all right?"

"How is he?" I asked, ignoring the food part. Red gently pushed me back so I would sit on the couch.

"He's going to be sore for awhile," Red admitted. "But Lena and our own ship doctor say he'll be fine, after he rests." I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Are you telling me the truth?" I asked. Red chuckled. "I mean, you're not sugar-coating this, are you?" Red's laughter subsided. He sat down on the couch next to me.

"Lake's got some internal damage. He's torn up pretty bad inside, but the worst was already fixed up," he said. "They want to fly him to the States for follow-ups, but Lena thinks he'll recover completely."

I thought that over. Red kept watching me though.

"He had a surgery, didn't he?" Red asked. "Someone worked on him?" I tried to block that memory, but how could I? I nodded. "It probably saved him, in the long run. But they didn't do the best job."

I huffed at that.

"Not surprised," I said. "They kept him awake during it."

Red stiffened. It felt like the room dropped twenty degrees.

"What?"

I couldn't look at Red as I spoke. I didn't want to risk crying, which was very possible with the wreck that I was.

"They wanted him alive, but just enough to exchange him for Arthur," I said. "They didn't give him anesthesia. I thought the pain was going to kill him, but he passed out." I could see him, writhing in agony as much as he could against the restraints and the soldiers that held him down.

My head was pounding. I winced.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Red leaned closer to me, his eyes darting over me like a doctor. He wasn't a doctor, was he? "No, I'm not a doctor."

I frowned. "I said that out loud?"

He nodded. "You're weak."

I blinked. "Gee, thanks." He smiled.

"I mean, you need some food in you." He stood up. "Come on. You look like a corpse."

"Just what every girl wants to hear."

He chuckled, and helped me up. I followed him, though he kept a hand on my arm to help.

-0-0-0-

Red set a food tray in front of me. We sat in the ship mess hall—fancy. Not. But it worked.

I glanced at the food. There was a piece of lasagna big enough to feed five grown men. I looked at Red.

"Eat what you can," Red said. I stabbed at some jello concoction instead.

"Eat the meat, not empty sugar," came a scolding voice. I looked up and gasped.

"Doc!" He looked a lot different without the normal bandana I'd seem on him. That, and he was dressed in track pants and a Van Halen t-shirt.

"Hey, Jane," he greeted. It felt so good seeing him alive—

My spirits instantly fell.

"What?"

"Who else made it?" I asked. I tried to smile, but I think they saw through the real question. Doc shot a look at Red, and I felt bad for bringing this up. Maybe I shouldn't have. I was essentially asking who died.

"Zee. They flew him to the States pretty quickly. Bad gunshot wound," Red said. "But LT's here. Remember?" I did. He caught me earlier from falling.

There was an awkward silence between us all. I cleared my throat.

"So what are your real names, because 'Doc' isn't that original, and Red—" I stopped. "What, your hair?" It was more blonde, but maybe it was red in normal lighting. The fluorescents here were less than flattering. I hated to think how my skin looked.

Doc held out his hand across the table. "Danny Kelley." I grinned and shook his hand. I looked expectantly at Red.

He stuck his hand out towards me. "James Atkins." I smiled, and shook his hand.

-0-0-0-

A salad, five bites of jello, and four bites of lasagna later, Red and Doc guided me to a briefing room. There were leather chairs, recliners practically, and a screen in the middle of the front wall. I was to be debriefed here.

"Have a seat," Doc said. I nervously complied. "I'm going to check on Lake."

"Can I see him?" I asked. Part of me doubted still if he really was okay. Doc glanced at Red.

"Captain wants her debriefed soon," Doc said, to Red.

"I'll stay with her," Red said, again talking to Doc and over my head. "I'll bring her by when we're done." He looked to me for approval.

"Thanks," I said. Doc left. Red sat down next to me, though keeping a seat between us. "Is this serious? This 'debriefing'?" Red smiled.

"It's more for security reasons," Red said. "Yakubu burned the US embassy. We need to figure out what else he or Sadick might do."

"Sadick reminds me of sadistic," I said, a little bit off topic. "I don't think that's a coincidence."

"Probably not."

Just then, LT walked in, following a fit older man with salt-and-pepper hair.

"Miss Sorenson," the man started, extending a hand to me, "Captain Bill Rhodes." I shook his hand. "Welcome aboard."

I glanced at Red, then LT. "Thank you." I expected the captain to pace in front of me and start grilling me with questions, but he didn't. He sat down across a little aisle between the seats, and turned towards me. LT sat behind him.

"Miss Sorsenson—Jane, is it?"

I nodded.

"Jane, I gather you've been through a lot the past few days," Capt. Rhodes began. "And I know you haven't rested too much. But I'd like to know what happened. Perhaps you could fill us in from the time you got separated from the team."

I took a deep breath. "How detailed do you want this?" I was suddenly grateful for the food I'd eaten. My headache was gone now, and if this took awhile, I didn't want to pass out.

The captain smiled briefly. "However you want. If I need more details, I'll ask."

"Okay."

I told him about the grenade that knocked me down, and how I waited for the rebels to pass. I told him how I found Lake, nearly executed, and then how Lake had saved me. I told him about Sadick and the rebels who found us, and how they took us to the compound closer to town. I almost lost my lunch when I related the surgery incident again. I told them about the doctor who smuggled Lake antibiotics, and how Lake found us a way to escape with a food tray. I told them about running from the rebels, on into the city, and not reaching the embassy in time. I did NOT tell them about Lake and I kissing—not their place, I figured. But I told them about finding the reporter, and getting to the British embassy.

I kept it as sterile as I could. As much of a nightmare that it was, I tried to be brave about it—or just detached. Maybe I was putting myself in Lake's mindset. I thought these men would appreciate the cold facts.

Rhodes did, but I noticed LT seemed quiet. His eyes were downcast, and I could tell he was upset. I imagined he was proud though—he had that glint to his eyes. Red, on the other hand, just looked sad. He was shifting in his seat, like he was trying to play it off, but I saw through it. I guess what I'd said affected him.

"Thank you, Jane," the captain said. "Red will take you somewhere to rest."

He stood up, and I took that as my dismissal.

"I want to see Lake," I said. It came out a little more demanding than I meant. The captain glanced hesitantly at LT.

"He hasn't been awake much," he said. "And frankly, Miss Sorenson, his condition might upset you."

I couldn't hold back the glare. "Upset me? You really think so, after everything I just told you?"

That shut him up. He nodded to Red.

"Come on, Jane." Red led me out of the room.

We weaved through the halls and down a flight of stairs to the infirmary. Red stepped aside to let me go in first.

Lake lay on a bed, a white sheet tucked around him and under his arms. He was in a hospital gown, which I knew he'd shun the moment he had enough energy. He looked clean now—someone must have washed him.

This wasn't like a hospital room, where family can stay and linger. It was just a bed, and further down were a few more hospital-style beds. But no couch or pull-out sleeper.

I stood next to Lake, watching him. Someone had shaved his face too. I kind of missed the stubble. He looked a little silly so clean-shaven, and then with the mohawk.

"Lake," I called out. I went to lay my hand on top of his, but stopped. There was an IV in that hand. His other hand was stuck with a needle too, but this one had blood going through. "They know he's AB+, right?"

Red blinked. "I'm sure they do. How do you know that?"

I smiled faintly. "It came up."

"It's a precaution," Red said. "They're just topping him off."

Suddenly Lake's hand twitched. He groaned softly and shifted.

"Lake?"

Red came on the other side of the bed. "Lake? Wake up, buddy."

Lake's eyes fluttered a little. "Ugh." That was the closest I could understand it. He opened his eyes, and saw Red first. "Thought I wouldn't have to see your ugly face again."

Red laughed. "Sorry. Here's a prettier one." He nodded at me, and I nearly blushed. But Lake let his head roll so he could see me. I suddenly felt very awkward. Wasn't this a little too normal for us, or too civilized? I felt like we needed gunfire in the background.

"Hey," he said softly. His voice was low and husky; it was so sexy. I wanted to kiss him. Instead, I swept my hand across his forehead. He felt cool now.

"Hi," I said back. "We made it."

He smiled. "Yeah, we did." His eyes moved over my body. He leaned towards me, glancing down. "How's your leg?"

"What's wrong with it?" Red asked, frowning.

"She got shot," Lake said.

Red shot me a brief glare. "You should have told me. Let's get that looked at."

"The rebels got the bullet out," I said, trying to downplay the urgency I heard in his voice.

From the door, I heard someone come in. "What happened?" It was Doc. Before I could answer:

"Jane got shot," Red said. Lake was smiling, and I wanted to swipe that off his face.

"It's not a big deal," I said. I noticed bandages peeking out from under the sleeve of the t-shirt Doc wore. "You got shot too."

Doc shrugged. I glanced at Lake, then Red.

"Are you part of this club?"

Red smirked. He pulled up his shirt, showing off a patch of gauze above his hip. I laughed, hearing Lake join in and the others too. Till then, I had never felt so at home in a place so foreign to me.


	16. Transfer

Chapter Sixteen: Transfer

After visiting awhile, Red and Doc left to do whatever it is they do on a ship. I sat on Lake's bed, careful not to tug on any of the wires. I was glad for a moment alone with him.

I eyed the IV bags—there were a few. Lake followed my eyeline.

"Nice, huh?"

"You're a human pin-cushion," I said with a slight smile.

"Could be worse." Yes, we both knew that. "How's everyone treating you?"

I shifted on the bed. "Fine. I met Captain Rhodes, which was interesting. But everyone's been great. Especially Red."

He got this weird look on his face, but then smiled tightly. "Good." I felt him squeeze my hand.

The bags hanging from the IV tower dripped down the lines, flooding Lake with things I couldn't pronounce. The only thing I recognized was 'saline.'

"They do have you on a lot of stuff," I commented.

"I don't know why," Lake said nonchalantly. "I was doing fine before." I rolled my eyes.

"You collapsed," I said. "I was afraid you were—" I cut myself off before I said 'dying.' "I thought we made it too late, for you." There was a twitch to the corner of his mouth.

"Hey." He looked steadily into my eyes. His own were bright all of a sudden. I loved his eyes. "You saved me. Not just back in that field, but . . ."

I felt a lump in my throat.

"When I found you in the jungle, I got distracted. From that moment on, I . . . couldn't stop thinking about you."

My face grew warmer. My heart hammered inside of me. I didn't have tons of experience here, but I knew what he was going to say.

"I wish you didn't have to go through everything," he said, "but you were there. And I'm—"

Footsteps sounded behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. It was a nurse. She smiled politely at us, but she'd broken the moment. I looked back to Lake. He smiled, amused, but I could read the disappointment in his eyes.

"He should get some rest," the nurse said in my direction. I nodded, not looking away from Lake.

"See you tomorrow," I said. I half moved in to kiss him, but thought better of it. Maybe he didn't want anyone to see. I settled on giving his hand a gentle squeeze. I felt his eyes on me as I left, and I had to glance back once more at him.

I kept the image of him smiling at me in my head.

-0-0-0-

I slept till morning the next day. The uninterrupted sleep was spectacular. I woke up refreshed, even more so after another shower. I felt good; my leg was newly cleaned, thanks to Doc, and spending time with Lake and the others had lifted my spirits.

My wardrobe today consisted of another t-shirt, branded as the Navy's, and some sweat pants again. Normally I avoided sweat pants like the plague, but the Navy made them more comfortable. That, and I could tell I lost some weight the last week, so that was a bonus. I found a scale in a gym after I left Lake yesterday, and when no one was looking, I weighed myself—lost twelve pounds. Probably all water weight or something, but hey, I'll take it any way I can. Actually, I was probably a little sickly looking. Maybe I'd put a few pounds back on—Red had said I looked like a corpse.

I made my way out of the room I'd been given. People were milling around, and I heard voices up and down the halls, but no one glanced twice at me. There was a flurry to everyone's movements.

I passed the mess hall. I didn't recognize anyone there, so I headed down the corridors and turned right. It felt colder here. I crossed my arms in front me, preserving what warmth I could. After sweating nearly non-stop since coming to Nigeria, I was surprised that I missed the warmth.

I couldn't remember where the medical bay was, but suddenly I was right in front of it. Red was inside, talking to Lake. I wondered if they needed a minute. The door was open.

"When?" Lake asked.

"When we get back to base," Red said. "We're being sent back, with the bodies."

Lake nodded somberly. Suddenly his eyes shifted in my direction. I was caught. He smiled.

"Hey."

Red turned towards me. "You sleep okay?"

I nodded. "I didn't mean to interrupt." The men exchanged a look.

"We were just talking about the memorials, for the team," Red filled in. 'Memorial' stuck out in my mind. I knew he was avoiding the more blunt way of putting it—the burial of those who'd died. "We're flying out today."

"I didn't think you could be moved yet," I said, looking at Lake. He smiled.

"Fast healer," he said. Red rolled his eyes.

"You're still on bed-rest when we get back," he reminded Lake. "You'll be lucky if you get back in the field within the next two months."

I smiled. It was fun, seeing this calmer camaraderie, versus the battle-type when they were in the field. The cool air got to me again. I shuddered.

"You cold?" Lake asked. He frowned.

"Weird, huh?" I said, smiling so I could play it off.

"I'll get you something," Red said, and he jogged out of the room quickly. I didn't even have a chance to stop him.

"You ready to get home?" Lake asked. I shrugged.

"Maybe." It depended on him, a little, but I couldn't say that. I mean, really, what could happen between us? He still had his duties, and he lived—where did he live? On base? Oh well. I lived in Ohio. Of course, if it came up, I'd leave Ohio in a heartbeat. Was that crazy?

I cleared my throat and my thoughts. "When do we leave?" I was assuming we were all going together. Luckily, he didn't correct that assumption.

"This afternoon."

"The memorials," I started, and I saw the flicker of emotion in his eyes, "could I go?"

He smiled softly. I'd make that image my mental wallpaper any day. "You sure you want to?"

I nodded. "I know I didn't know them long, but . . . they protected me too."

Lake's smile broadened. Just then, Red came back in.

"Here," he said, and he had a hooded sweat shirt in hand.

I grinned. "You didn't have to do that." Red shrugged and helped put it over my head.

"Might be a little big on you," he said, as I popped my head out of the top of the hoodie. He tugged at it, surveying the fit. I glanced down and found that it was loose, but not ridiculously.

"Thanks, Red." He smiled. His eyes flickered to Lake, and I peeked over my shoulder at him. His lips were a tight straight line. I was about to ask him what was wrong—

"I ran into LT," Red said. "Captain wants to see her." He looked at me. I'd already been debriefed, so I wasn't sure what Capt. Rhodes wanted. I looked to Lake for some reassurance.

"It'll be okay," he said. I smiled.

"Come on." Red started for the door. "I'll take you."

-0-0-0-

We came to the room where I'd been debriefed. LT was there, and he looked grim. Captain Rhodes stood waiting for me.

"Miss Sorenson," he started, "I apologize for the abruptness of this, but we have to get you and the rest of the team State-side quickly."

"I heard something about that."

"A transport will take you to Senegal," he said, "and you'll be put on a plane to Norfolk." I stared at him. Where the heck was Senegal? Norfolk, I figured, was Virginia. "From there, you can talk to the Navy about getting you home."

I nodded like a bobble-head.

"We can't ask you not to share what's happened with anyone," Rhodes continued. I frowned. "When you get back, it's your right to tell whoever you want."

I sensed a 'but' coming on, but he didn't say it. I glanced at Red and LT.

"But it would help you if I kept quiet," I suggested for them. If they weren't going to say it . . . Rhodes nodded.

"For several reasons," he said. I got the impression he was talking about security issues, among whatever the 'several reasons' were. I looked to Red, who just looked me straight back. He wasn't avoiding me, and that confidence clued me in—the US was going to fight Yakubu.

It made sense. Yakubu had authorized or allowed a US embassy to be destroyed. He'd threatened US citizens, and maybe he was playing hardball still. He was problematic enough to warrant being taken out. Maybe the US would even try to get Arthur in power.

"Captain, my parents already think I was crazy to come out here," I said. "If I go back and tell them what's happened, I'll just be proving them right. I see no reason to do that." Captain Rhodes chuckled.

"Thank you." He nodded at Red. "The transport will be here soon. Lieutenant Waters and his team are getting ready to leave. Stick close to them."

"Thank you, sir."

-0-0-0-

Norfolk. As soon as we landed, I realized how memorials began. An armed salute guard stood ready as we came off the plane. Lake was nearly carted away, but he whispered something fiercely into the ear of the medical staff who were waiting for him, and so they steadied him off to the side. I stood next to him, with Red, LT, Lena (she came too) and Doc.

In single file, three coffins were brought out. A military brass band played something mournfully suitable, in honor of them. It felt weird to me, but I ignored it with the morbid thought of who was in each coffin. Slo. Silk. Flea. I wondered what their real names were.

The real memorial service, in an on-base chapel, would be held tomorrow. Judging from how the others looked, that time to say goodbye would be well-appreciated. The coffins were loaded into a vehicle. My eyes teared up—I wondered how their families would cope. Would they even know how or where they died?

"We should go," one of the medical staff said to Lake as soon as he could. Lake glared at him.

"I'm fine," he seethed. Despite the circumstances, I smiled. He caught my smile and glared at me. It only made me grin more. "Give me a minute," he said to the medical staffer. Reluctantly, he stepped away. I put my hands out to steady Lake.

"Lake, are you sure—" I started.

"I can stand," he cut me off. "Nothing wrong with my legs."

"Or your mouth," I said. He nearly glared at me again. "I know you cussed out that guy." I nodded in the direction of the medical staffer.

"He deserved it."

I fought back a laugh.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked. I shrugged.

"I'm free to go whenever," I said, "but I definitely want to stay till tomorrow." _At least._ "I just have to go shopping, get some stuff, find a place for tonight. And I should probably call my parents." I frowned.

"Place for tonight?" he repeated. I nodded.

"To sleep. I don't live here," I said.

"I do," he pointed out. "And unfortunately, they won't let me go home yet." He jabbed a finger in the staffer's direction. "Just stay there."

I blinked. "No, it's okay. I can find a hotel—"

"Red," Lake cut me off. "Will you get Jane my keys?"

He nodded. "Sure."

"Might as well have someone use it," Lake said. "You'll show her where?"

Red nodded.

I felt a slight thrill at being invited to stay at Lake's apartment. It'd be better if I wasn't there alone, a stranger in his home, but hey, at least I wasn't going to be in some weird hotel in a new city.

Lake's medical babysitters won out at that point, carting him off. I promised I'd stop by, and Red added that we'd bring him some of his stuff too. I was sad to see him go, but then again, I'd be close to him, in some ways. I'd get to see where he lived.

Red dropped me off at Lake's, after volunteering also to come back and give me a ride to wherever I wanted to shop. I thanked him, and went inside an apartment building.

There was nothing ornate about the building, and Lake's apartment was the same way. Furniture was sparse and practical. He had one coffee table, one end table, one couch, and one lamp. He did, of course, have a flat panel TV. I smiled.

I strolled through the apartment. From the living room, the kitchen was attached. No kitchen table, but there was bar-seating and three barstools. I walked back to the bedrooms.

Two of them—one had weights and a Bow-Flex-looking thing. The other was his room. His bed was unmade, which I found completely adorable. Dark sheets, because of course—nothing else would be manly enough. This was Lake, the guy who thought his first name made him sound like a wimp. Everything in his room was neat though—no clothes thrown everywhere. A simple chest of drawers and a closet . . . I resisted the urge to go through those.

There were five photos I found in the whole apartment. One of him and the team—all decked out in military gear. Another one of him, Red, Zee, and Flea, at a bar of sorts in regular street clothes. The third photo I found was a family reunion or something, but Lake was easy to pick out still—he didn't have the mohawk in it, but none of his siblings had his smile, or those same, green eyes. The fourth photo was of a military base, the American flag flying in the wind. I assumed it was Norfolk, but I hadn't studied the base enough to really know. And the fifth photo was of a child, an Asian boy, who lay in his mother's arms in a tattered hut.

My heart stopped. The boy wasn't asleep. He was dead. The mother's eyes were shut, but she was alive, holding her son. And the hut . . . it was tattered because it was burnt and nearly destroyed. Maybe bombed? I swallowed. Why did Lake have such a morbid photo?

It wasn't in a nice frame; in fact, the frame was just black metal, something cheap from Wal-Mart or wherever. The other photos were displayed on the walls throughout the apartment. But this one was on top of his chest of drawers in his room. Maybe there was some reason for it—I'm sure there was. My heart ached just thinking about it. I left it alone and went back to the living room.

I settled on Lake's couch and went ahead and called my parents. They were frantic, wondering what had happened to me given what little they'd heard in the news. I just told them I went to an embassy where I was evacuated and brought back. It was true enough, in a general sense. They pushed for when I'd be home. I wasn't sure—I needed to buy a ticket home, but I couldn't bring myself to do it yet. I wanted to stay.

Also, not having any ID or money on me didn't help. My parents were wiring me some cash, and the Navy, aware of what happened in Nigeria, was helping me with ID thing. I had some documents and my license back home, but my passport was still in the village in Africa.

The door bell rang. I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was 1 o'clock. _Red._

I opened the door, and found Red waiting.

"Ready?"

I glanced him over. "No fair," I said. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and a jacket, and I was very conscious of the fact I only had this Navy apparel. I was still wearing his hoodie, but I was one of those girls who went shopping in a semi-cute, impressive outfit. Not sweats.

"What?"

I shook my head. "Never mind." He chuckled. I made sure to lock Lake's place, and when I turned back, Red had his hand held out towards me.

"Let's go," he said.

I blinked, then took his hand.

-0-0-0-

a/n: There's a point, I promise!! And thanks so much for everyone's patience. I thought I would get this chapter done sooner, but I wrote a version and didn't like it at all, and needed to rethink how to get where I wanted. Thank you so much also for the reviews!! Let me know what you think of this chapter too. Thanks!


	17. Lines You Cross

a/n: Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm still thrilled by the new readers and the feedback. Enjoy the chapter below, and I'll get working on the next one. Thanks again!

Chapter Seventeen: Lines You Cross

Red waited as I tried on some clothes at an Old Navy store. In my mind, I made a quip about a Navy man shopping at Old Navy. I was glad I didn't say it aloud.

My standard size jeans worked fine, and I found a few shirts that worked too. But a suitable dress or something nicer for the funeral evaded me. I stared at my reflection, holding up a black dress.

"Maybe," I said to myself. I tried it on. It fit kind of funny at my waist, but I'd already tried on three other dresses, and Old Navy didn't offer many styles to begin with. This one at least was long enough to cover my leg. I figured showing off the gauze-wrapped wound wasn't really a good idea. I frowned at my feet. I was going to need shoes to match.

I studied my reflection, turning this way and that. _Maybe I should get Red's opinion._ The dress made me look really pale. I'd need some makeup too.

I stepped out of the dressing room stall, looking for Red. He was sitting at the dressing room entrance, his head bowed down. He looked tired, and more than a little sad. It suddenly hit me what he'd been through. He'd lost three of his friends. Almost lost Lake. Been in combat, fought rebels, saw atrocities, gotten shot . . .

And here I was, worried about how I'd look for a _funeral._

I felt ill.

"Jane?"

I looked up. Red was standing now.

"You okay?"

I nodded.

"I like it," he said, smiling and giving one nod at the dress. I meekly smiled back, and retreated to the dressing room.

I think he knew something was up. I paid for the dress, no longer caring that it didn't fit perfectly, and also bought a pair of slip-ons and other clothes. I followed Red from the store to his truck.

Once we got in the truck, he turned to me.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His lips were tightly pressed together, and I saw his eyes searching over me. Guiltily, I looked to the floor, where my bag of new clothes was. I wasn't sure if I wanted to do this, to explain . . . how would I even do it?

I remembered how I felt in the village, and afterwards how guilty and ashamed I was. Did I come all this way, to survive and see so much, only to forget so quickly? What did that say about me?

"Jane?"

I looked to him finally.

"How do you do it?" I asked. "See what you see, do what you do, and then come back to this . . . and still be able to . . . "

"Live?" Red filled in.

"Here I am, worrying about what I look like, when a couple of days ago I was just trying to stay out of reach of a crazy dictator." I sighed, frustrated at myself.

He tilted his head to the side. "Shopping's therapeutic, isn't it?"

I froze for a beat as it sunk in what he said. And then I just burst out laughing. He chuckled with me. It took me a second to settle down, and then I fiddled with the shopping bag.

"I was wondering when this would catch up with you," he said.

"Really?"

He nodded. "You have to go on. Sometimes it seems so pathetic, the things that matter here at home, but it keeps you sane." He smiled. "You get used to it."

I was afraid I already was used to it. And again, what did that say about me?

-0-0-0-

Red took me to a restaurant. He said Navy food was okay, but it was time for some real food. I protested, but he had a point when he said that Lake probably didn't have anything edible in his fridge. I half-feared we'd go to some bar, but I shouldn't have worried. Red pulled up to Chili's.

"What made you want to be a SEAL?" I asked Red over our meals. "Or even join the Navy?"

Red smiled slyly. "My dad was in the Army. I wanted some adventure, and figured following his path wasn't a bad idea."

"Were you disappointed?" I asked. He hesitated. I think everyone hesitates, when you ask one of those hypothetical if–you-could-do-it-over-again questions. But he shook his head.

"I joined up when I was 18, right out of high school." He shrugged and picked up a chip and dipped it in some salsa. "I probably should have gone to college, but it didn't matter to me. I just wanted to get out there."

"The field?" Wasn't that what they called it? Red nodded. He leaned back in our little booth.

"I had second thoughts after a few times out there." He paused, thinking to himself. "Everyone does. Something can shake you up, but you either quit, or you keep going."

The waitress came to top off our waters.

"Thanks," I said, but she ignored it and looked at Red.

"Can I get you anything else?" She smiled more broadly than she needed to. I hid a smile. Red shook his head.

"No thanks. Just the check," he said. The waitress, probably still in college, gave a pouty smile before leaving. I half expected her to glare openly at me, but thankfully she didn't. That would be awkward.

Once she left, Red chuckled.

"Sorry," he said.

"I wasn't sure if she was obvious enough for you to pick up on it," I said. That made him chuckle more.

"I'm supposed to be observant, so if I missed that, I'm in the wrong line of work."

We headed back to his truck.

"Tired?" Red asked as he drove. The city lights blurred by. I had no idea where we were, but the drive was lulling me near sleep.

Even so: "No, I'm fine."

He smiled in my direction, and turned the truck left. "Let's get some stuff for Lake then."

We got back to Lake's. For a moment, we both just stood there, in his living room.

"I think he'd rather you go through his clothes than me," I suggested. Red grinned and headed back to the bedroom. I followed him back, although I let him do the gathering of clothes.

Red rifled through the closet and snagged a shirt and some jeans. He also pulled out a uniform. I stared at it, draped in plastic.

"For the funeral?" I asked. Red nodded. "Will the hospital let him go?"

"They won't have a choice," he said with a grin. He turned to Lake's dresser. His eyes went to the photo on top. I saw Red tense, his shoulders squared and his whole body froze. "Wow."

I stepped closer, looking between Red and the photo of the mother and son.

"Yeah, I saw that earlier," I said. Red blinked a few times.

"I didn't know this got to him," he said. I found my heart beating harder.

"What?" For some reason, I wanted to know, even though it clearly had a bad end.

Red shook his head. "It was a couple of years ago." He kept his eyes on the photo and backed away until he sat on the bed. "We . . . we ran into some trouble. We were all firing at enemy forces. It was around a couple of shacks, and we all thought it was where the enemy was stationed."

He looked directly at me. As he spoke, I couldn't stop from seeing what he said in my mind.

"Lake threw a couple of grenades. He and I ran in to clean up—" he hesitated here to make sure I got what he meant. I gave a short nod. 'Clean up' was an easy code to break. "We found the boy inside. His mother was stunned from the explosions. She . . . screamed at us, picked up the boy. She didn't stop crying the whole time we were there."

Despite the heaviness in the room, Red smiled to himself. "I never knew he took it so hard."

"What do you mean?"

"Hey, he has this photo. LT took it—kind of a point to make with the Navy intelligence guys." Red sighed. "But normally . . . Lake wouldn't care. He doesn't show anything. Even back at the village, where you were . . ." There was that haunted look again in his eyes. "It bothered him, seeing that woman butchered, but only at first—"

I flinched. None of them had told me what happened.

Red saw my reaction. "Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

I could only shake my head. Red cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Anyway. It stayed with me. It affected the whole team. Even LT," he said. "But not Lake."

It bothered me that he said that. I felt myself getting defensive, which was silly because he wasn't putting Lake down, not really.

"Just because he doesn't show it, doesn't mean it doesn't bother him," I said quietly. "There's a lot he keeps inside."

Red chuckled. "Well, he's not an open book."

"He has to keep up this strong thing you guys all do," I said with a smile.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He quirked a grin, teasingly.

"You know what I mean." I laughed. "Lake won't let people call him by his first name because he thinks it makes him a sissy."

Red busted up laughing then. "Okay, okay."

I looked back to the photo. Red was right; Lake was not an open book. But I'd seen how much he cared, how much things did bother him. He just wouldn't show it if possible, in case it would make him seem weak. I bet he wouldn't want me or Red to know we'd even seen this photo. I wouldn't bring it up, unless he did—I made the promise to myself right then. Some things had to stay private. And with Lake, I got that.

When I turned away from the photo, Red was watching me. He had a slight smile on his face.

"Let's go see Lake," he said.

-0-0-0-

I held the uniform high enough so it didn't drag across the hospital parking lot. Red toted a small bag of some other clothes and Lake's dress shoes. Man, were those things shiny!

"What time is it?" I asked Red. My internal clock was so screwed up. I knew it was night, but that's only because the sun was gone.

"9:30," Red replied. _That's it?_

"I hope we can still visit him," I thought aloud.

There was no problem seeing Lake, but he was asleep when we got to the room. Red quietly set up his uniform and clothes. I went to Lake's side. I wanted to wake him up, just to say hi, but his breathing was even. _He needs the sleep. Especially if he's coming to the funeral tomorrow._

"Come on," Red whispered. I nodded, and gave Lake's hand a squeeze before leaving.

As we walked back to Red's truck, I saw him yawn. I felt so bad—I'd monopolized all his time, and made him go shopping, which I still felt weird about. But it had been a good day, hadn't it? I made it back to my country, alive, and spent time with a friend.

I stopped walking. "Red." He stopped and turned around. "Thanks for taking me around today." I felt silly blurting this out, but hey, what else was new. "I know this was probably the last thing you wanted to do today, but I . . . I really appreciate it."

I ended with a shrug. Red smiled and took a step towards me.

"I was happy to," he said. His voice dropped more softly. "Jane, I'm not sure you get it." I blinked. What didn't I get? "Get how much I owe you, and admire you. You brought Lake back. You've been through hell and come out stronger and kinder than anyone."

I felt my face heat up at this compliments. My eyes sought out the ground. But I felt his fingertips under my chin, tilting my head up. His blue eyes met mine, and before I knew it, he kissed me.

I froze. My lips registered how nice of a kiss it was, but my mind screamed at me. I didn't kiss Red back.

He noticed and pulled away. "I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his forehead. "That was . . ."

It was suddenly crystal clear to me that Red liked me (well, duh—but he felt more than being caught up in the moment). I blushed at the thought, and tried to smile politely. Wow, this was awkward.

"Long day ahead tomorrow," he said, and he nodded to the truck. I followed him, but not before glancing back at the hospital. I saw a figure step back from the curtains of a room. I frowned. Kind of weird, but I guess there wasn't much to do in hospitals.

When Red dropped me off, he walked me to the door. I felt the tension between us, though just awkwardness for me.

"Jane." Red struggled for the words. Suddenly he laughed. "I have no idea how to do this with you. With you, it's all different." He chuckled again, and I relented with a smile. "Can I take you out sometime?"

I almost pointed out that he'd taken me out tonight, but that was different. That was a favor, for me. This time, he was clarifying what the next thing would be—a date.

As much as I liked him, I couldn't go there. He was a friend to me, because someone else took a higher spot in my heart.

"Red . . ." I started searching for how to say it, but then I saw his face. He knew.

"It's okay," he said.

"If things were different, maybe," I said, but that sounded lame. "I just . . . Lake and I . . ."

His eyes grew wide. "Really?"

"I don't know, but . . ."

He smiled. "I should have known." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. Wow, if he wasn't injured, he'd kill me."

I laughed. I was relieved Red could joke about it. He smiled back, and I knew there were no hard feelings.

-0-0-0-

I pulled at the black dress I'd chosen. It bunched up with annoying static-cling. I sat in the middle of the church, while Red, LT, Doc, Zee and Lake were in the front row. I was surprised Zee was here, but he looked pretty good. Lake looked okay, physically, but he had yet to look in my direction. I knew this was hard for him though.

There were photos of Silk, Flea and Slo facing out to the congregation. I sat by Lena as the memorial went on.

The team stood up at the end of the memorial. I can't remember what was said. The words washed over me, but the grief stayed deeper. At one point, LT, Red, Zee, Doc and Lake each saluted the fallen members of their team. I started crying then, silently, but the tears streamed down my face.

I think there might have been arrangements for another funeral back in each soldier's home town. We didn't go to any cemetery for a graveside ceremony. I stood as the caskets were taken out of the church, with the rest of the team following and assisting (those that could—both Lake and Zee stayed in the church). I didn't know what was next. Where I came from, maybe we'd go back to the grieving family's home and bring over food and socialize, which was sick, but hey, it happened. I think the idea was to comfort the family.

The gathering dispersed, and my eyes followed Lake. He moved gingerly. I noticed an orderly from the hospital was standing nearby, but he left Lake alone for now. The grounds of the church were actually quite nice, extending to well-maintained gardens. I came outside and watched Lake from a distance. He suddenly stopped, grasping his side.

I trotted out to him.

"Lake?" I called out. "Are you okay?"

He straightened up and put on that stoic face of his.

"Fine," he said. I picked up on the shortness of his tone. _He just went through a funeral, remember?_

I stood next to him, but gave him a little space. Even with that space, I felt cold—from him. It was like he was radiating frosty anger. It made me uneasy.

"Have you talked to your family?" I asked him. He shook his head.

"No."

That didn't get me anywhere.

"When do you go home?" he asked evenly. I was glad for the question. I thought maybe he hated the idea as much as I did.

"I haven't made arrangements yet," I said. I tried to throw in a smile or a hint, but he didn't break his stony façade. It was like he didn't care. I struggled for what to say next. I wanted to tell him I didn't want to go. I wanted to say I would miss him. I wanted to ask what was between us. But the chill I felt was still there. I went out on a limb.

"What about you?"

Lake looked ahead at the grounds, and not at all at me. "I'm staying here." I expected that, but . . .

"Will I see you after I go?" I asked. Lake shrugged.

"Who knows."

My throat was closing up on me. Why was he being so aloof? I blinked a few times to clear my eyes.

"Well . . ." I coughed once just to break the silence. "I can stay a few days, if you—"

"I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I can help—"

"That won't be necessary. I'm being released tomorrow, and I want my home to myself."

I felt my face heat up. Thank goodness he wasn't looking at me anyway. Did he really just . . . reject me? Not just that, but he basically withdrew his offer for me to stay at his apartment.

Maybe I'd mistaken what happened between me and Lake. Maybe the crises we went through together were just heat of the moment type of things, and nothing more. Obviously, I overestimated how he felt about me. Maybe our previous conversations, which I thought were tender and caring, were just him saying thanks and goodbye. Had I read too much into it?

I made myself look at Lake, or rather the side of his face since he wouldn't look at me.

"Thanks for letting me use your apartment last night," I said. My voice was dipping into that weak whisper, which it always did when I was about to cry. I cleared my throat, intent on not breaking down now. "I'll leave the key with Red."

He didn't even nod. I stepped back, once, twice, each step waiting for him to stop me. But he didn't.

"Bye, Lake." I hesitated one more second, and then made myself walk away.

I walked back to the church. As soon as I turned a corner and found the restrooms, I felt ill. I stumbled away from anyone who could see me. I ducked into an empty stall just to catch my breath.

I felt like I'd been shredded by gunfire.


	18. Goodbye

a/n: Okay, so I might have taken some liberties with this chapter. I tried to research what I could, but hopefully nothing stands out in a bad way. Thanks so much for your continued reviews! I really enjoy the feedback, and it keeps me going. Thanks!

Chapter Eighteen: Goodbye

"Jane?" Before I turned around, I knew it was Red. I opened the door of the cab that was waiting for me before I faced him.

"Hey."

He frowned at the cab.

"You going somewhere?" He didn't hide any confusion on his part. Behind him was the church, and people were still milling about before leaving. I _would not_ look for Lake.

"I have to get back home," I said. I moved to get in the cab, but felt Red's hand on my arm.

"Wait, Jane—" He was bewildered by this, and I felt bad that I was just leaving, almost without saying goodbye. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head. "My family needs me," I said. "My flight leaves in two hours." That wasn't true; I hadn't booked a flight yet, but Red didn't know that.

"Let me take you then," he said, and he moved to dismiss the cab.

"No," I quickly said. I backed up against the cab like it was my last defense. I was barely holding it together. My throat felt raw from the emotional lumps there. Red couldn't see me like this, or any worse. "I don't want to take you away from this. They need you." I gestured to the other team members. They were coming out of the church now. Lake was standing with them, well enough on his own. I quickly looked away.

"Then come say goodbye to them," he urged, pulling at my arm again. "Especially Lake."

A hard pit formed in my stomach. "I already said goodbye to him," I said. I tried to keep my voice from slipping. "I'm sorry, Red. I just have to go." Red stared at me.

"Jane . . ."

"I'll leave his key under the mat," I said, avoiding Lake's name. "Tell them bye for me." Red was stunned enough that I slipped inside the cab. I gave the driver the address to Lake's apartment, and as the cab drove off, I purposely did not look back.

I felt horrible that I didn't say goodbye properly to LT, Doc, Zee, and especially Red. He'd been a good friend to me, and I felt like I treated him badly. But I couldn't face this anymore.

At Lake's apartment, I quickly changed into the jeans and a shirt I bought last night. I stuffed my dress, other clothes and even the Navy sweats into a plastic bag. I folded Red's hoodie and left it on the kitchen counter. Lake could give it back to him. I left an unaddressed note that said "Give back to Red" and stuck it on top of the hoodie.

I almost left Lake a note. I tried to convince myself that I should explain how I felt, but then my mind quickly reminded me that I was pretty clear. Wasn't I? It didn't matter. I would NOT chase after Lake, not when he made it blatantly obvious that he wanted nothing to do with me. His words still stung me. I swallowed as more tears threatened to dominate me.

I thought about just leaving my phone number and address. I even got as far as writing it down. But it hurt my pride—yes, I had pride. Not much left, but a little. I dropped the pen I'd written with and crumpled up the paper.

The cab was waiting for me. I knew that was really impractical, not to mention expensive, but it was my incentive to hurry. I made one sweep around the apartment, making sure I didn't leave anything that I bought.

I checked the bedroom. The sheets were neatly tucked and made. Even though I slept on Lake's couch, I thought it would be a nice thing to do. I laughed bitterly out loud at myself.

_You stupid girl._

-0-0-0-

I got to the airport and checked the departures for the next flight to Ohio. It would leave in half an hour. I managed to get a ticket, paying cash and flashing a temporary ID the Navy got me. The security checkpoint was hesitant about that, but after a thorough check by one of their agents and scanning my bag of clothes eight times, they let me go.

I had to run to catch my flight. I liked the hurry. It left me no time to break down.

Until I was on the plane, and then it hit me. I was going home. I should have been happy. Most people would wish none of the last several days had ever happened. I never thought I'd feel that way, since I met Lake. But now I did. I wished I'd never gone to Nigeria. I'd still be at home, wondering what to do with my degree, probably unsatisfied with my life.

But at least I wouldn't be hurting.

I managed to fight off tears until after we landed. I called my parents and asked them to pick me up from the airport. And then, with some time to kill until they came, I went into the women's restroom and cried.

When my parents picked me up, they looked relieved. My eyes were back to normal, no longer puffy or red.

"Were you waiting long?"

"Are you okay?"

"What happened in Nigeria?"

There were more questions, but I just stuck to the watered-down version about being evacuated at an embassy. My mom mentioned that the embassy had been burned down. I said I'd heard that, and let her assume I was evacuated from there before it was destroyed. My dad said he hoped I learned my lesson. "There's plenty of good you can do here. No need to go to some war-torn land."

I numbly nodded.

They thought it was odd I had no luggage. I just told them there wasn't time to take anything except what I had in the plastic bag. Luckily, they didn't realize it was all new clothes, and not a single item I ever took to Nigeria.

They dropped me off at my apartment. Home. I told them I was pretty tired, but yes, I'd come over Sunday for dinner.

My apartment was quiet. There was no hustle of military guys running around. There was no shouting, no crying of mourners, no joking around, nothing. No Lake. It was just me, alone. I sat down on my couch, pulled a blanket over me, and wished for something to be different. I'm not sure what I wanted. I didn't dare wish that Lake would have wanted me in his life. I was too bitter for that.

No, I was beyond bitter. I was broken. The first sob I uttered sounded like a hiccup in my apartment. I slapped my hand over my mouth, and the rest of my sobs were at least muffled.

-0-0-0-

Two Weeks Later

After wallowing in self-pity for a couple of days, I couldn't stand myself anymore. I wasn't going to be some helpless, useless girl who cowered in fear of life. I survived Nigerian rebels intent on killing me or worse, and I wasn't going to waste that.

I contacted the Red Cross. I figured they were a bit more stable than the outfit I signed up with before. That organization was coming under fire since some others helping in Nigeria hadn't returned. I counted myself lucky that I had.

The Red Cross was actually impressed that I went to Nigeria. When they asked what I did there, I told them I just helped where I could. Honestly, the person who interviewed me was more impressed that I returned in one piece. He asked for more details, but I just told him I really couldn't say. With the news filled with reports of the US-Nigerian relations being strained, my lack of an answer only made him more curious. I think he was new to this.

Between my 'experience' and my degree, the Red Cross guy asked what type of assignment I was looking for. I really didn't know, but a newspaper caught my eye.

"Disaster services," I said. "Maybe in California?" There were fires raging out of control in the southern part. I was pleasantly surprised that I got a job, for now as a wherever-we-need-you thing. The Red Cross guy made arrangements for me to fly to California.

I packed one bag with a few of my things. My flight for San Diego left in three hours, and I had to stop by my parents' place and say goodbye. I zipped up my suitcase, and grabbed my purse.

As I headed for the door, I heard the phone ring. I sighed. I was cutting it close if I was going to make it to my parents. I glanced at the phone. The call was from a number I didn't recognize. Area code 757. Weird.

I left it unanswered, and locked up my apartment.

-0-0-0-

The fires were spreading fast. Black smoke covered the sky, even in the city. I had no idea fire could be so destructive. I'd read about it, seen _Backdraft_, but this was different. That first day in San Diego, I was sent to the stadium, where people streamed in with little more than the clothes on their backs. Some were rich, others poor, others in between. I just tried to make sense of the new situation as I joined the other Red Cross workers in handing out supplies.

A worker named Karina showed me where we would stay at night. The Red Cross had us working in shifts, which surprised me. I figured if we could stand it, we'd work around the clock. Weren't the circumstances dire enough?

"Everything's always an emergency," Karina said. "If you don't rest, you won't survive." She laughed at me, not in an unkind way, and drove us across town to a Holiday Inn. There were a lot of out-of-state workers staying there. We shared a room, which I was fine with. I was surprised we weren't sleeping on cots at the stadium with those fleeing the fire.

"You can shower first, if you want," Karina offered. I smiled and took her up on that. The smell of smoke was embedded everywhere. I had to lather up twice before I felt it was gone, but really, it was just in the air. I wasn't even in the thick of the fire, and it was like this? I was in for some surprises, I knew.

-0-0-0-

Karina became my guide those first couple of days, and then I just got the hang of it. No one thought the fires would last more than those few days, but a week later, we were still there.

Each day, I'd help check in the new refugees. It was so weird to think of them that way. When I thought of refugees, I thought of Nmumbu, or the other villagers who were on the run from Sadick and Yakubu. Here, there was a different sense of urgency. But even so, these people were suffering, and I pushed my own experiences aside. The work kept me busy enough that I didn't have time to be fazed by horror stories of homes lost or near danger from the fire. But in the back of my mind, I still compared this to the homes lost in Nigeria, villages burned along with the corpses of people butchered by Yakubu's soldiers.

After checking in new refugees, I tried to help coordinate a better place for them to stay. I'd help contact family, or point them in the direction for help from the government. Karina preferred I handled that, while she handed out supplies and coordinated arrangements within the stadium that served as a temporary solution.

Though the news and everything here was about the fires and their impact, I did see a news story buried in the middle of the pages about Nigeria. I took a quick moment to read over it: the US was strained in its dealings with General Yakubu. The military was building around the African nation.

I blinked before I could dwell on the news too much. I wondered what wasn't written here—what else might be going on over there.

And then I set aside the paper, and turned as a new family fleeing the fire's damage came in.

-0-0-0-

The National Guard was working to help contain the fires. While that was neat, every time I saw a man in uniform I wondered how the team was doing. I purposely tried to think of them as a team, and limit myself to seeing Red's face, LT's, Doc's and Zee's in my mind. It didn't always work. That damn mohawk surfaced every now and then.

I cleared my throat and turned back to my work. I tried calling some extended family of a teenage girl who came in alone. Her parents were out of the country and didn't know their home was on fire. I got someone's voicemail when I heard some shouting down the hall, out in the stadium.

I hung up and headed that way.

Karina was in the midst of four men.

"We were here first," one man said, and he had a friend behind him that showed off his strength with a muscle shirt. They stood by some cots.

"Exactly," said another man. He and the man next to him looked like brothers, pretty well-to-do judging from their watches. Their eyes narrowed at the other two men. "You've had plenty of time to get a move on. So _move on_."

Were they fighting? Over cots?!

"Gentlemen, please," Karina tried to intervene. "We have room for everyone right now, so there's really no need—"

"Hey, I just lost my house," the muscle guy said. I rolled my eyes.

"We _all _did, you idiot," the two brothers said in near-unison.

"Did you just call me an idiot?"

I could think of worse things to call all of them.

"Yeah, I did." The men started to shove each other, pettily at first. Karina shot me a wild look.

"Everyone, calm down—" she tried to say, but suddenly, the muscle guy swung a punch at the brothers. It took less than a second for all four to get in the thick of it, with Karina caught in the middle.

"Back off!" I yelled, but they were shouting and hitting each other. Karina screamed and ducked out of the way. I grabbed her hand and pulled her further away. The other people were scared or just ticked off. I could see it in their faces. I could just imagine others getting involved, and if they did, we'd have a riot.

I looked around the room for any National Guard to break this up, but didn't see anyone. A gun would have been nice, but probably not the way to go. My eyes fell on a fire extinguisher.

I ran and grabbed it.

Karina was still trying to break things up, but at a distance.

"Stop it! This isn't the place!" Karina shouted.

I pulled the pin on the extinguisher and aimed the attached hose right at the men. I shifted the weight of the extinguisher, and squeezed the lever. The chemicals sprayed out over them.

"Hey!" The men tried to shield their faces. They stopped fighting and turned their backs in my direction. I blanketed them once more before releasing the lever.

"You done?" I said, and I knew I was shouting. "Good."

They coughed and started wiping at the powder covering them. Muscle guy called me something not too nice. I sprayed him with a quick shot of the extinguisher.

"You guys are no longer welcome here," I said. Somehow that sobered them up really quickly.

"Hey, we need help—"

"I don't doubt that," I said sarcastically. Someone in the crowd chuckled. "Everyone here has enough to deal with without you causing trouble. The four of you, leave now, or open wide." I aimed the hose at them.

Slowly, they got moving. The other refugees parted so a clear path emerged for them. I didn't stop glaring at them until they were gone. I looked to Karina.

"Can we get some better security around here?" I asked her. She nodded. Her eyes went to the area I'd sprayed down.

"Wow," she said. I shrugged.

"It put out the fire, didn't it?"

That night, Karina was still in shock of what happened. Sort of.

"I can't believe you did that!" she exclaimed, painting her nails. "That was amazing! I thought they were going to kill each other, maybe me even!" I chuckled.

"It worked better than I thought," I said. I wiggled my toes—I was giving myself a pedicure.

"Yeah, I'll say," she said.

"Was anyone upset by it?" I asked. I knew someone somewhere was unhappy, at least at the Red Cross offices. Karina shrugged.

"If security had been there, it might have been better than a Red Cross worker having to beat those guys down." She giggled. She was still on the high of excitement. "But it won't happen again. I heard so many versions of what happened from all the refugees. This is a legend now. No one's going to step out of line after that."

_Great._ I pulled up my left pant leg so it wouldn't touch my toes. I started painting that foot, when I noticed how quiet it was. I glanced to Karina. She was staring at my leg.

My leg didn't need any dressings now, but there was a puckered scar over the bullet wound, and it was scabbing too. It was big enough to draw anyone's attention, apparently.

"Is that a . . . gun shot?" she asked. I blinked.

"How would you know what a gun shot looks like?"

She didn't stop staring at my leg. "I was pre-med for awhile. Is it?"

I shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

"Did that happen in Nigeria?" she asked. I hadn't told her about Nigeria but I think there were rumors around the Red Cross office here.

"Just a stray bullet," I said. "It happens more often than you think." I smiled to put her at ease. Then I turned back to my toes, intent on changing the topic before I thought of the whole experience, and thereby Lake--

"Why'd you change from pre-med?" I asked. It distracted Karina enough that I just listened to her talk and concentrated on my toenails.


	19. How You Remind Me

Chapter Nineteen: How You Remind Me

The fires were coming under control. It'd rained in the mountains over night, and that helped a lot. Karina and I were cleaning up the stadium some. Many people were excited to go home, if they could, or were clearing out to relatives' homes.

I felt good about what I'd done here. Even if Nigeria was a failure for me, this was right on track. I could do this, right? Maybe I would just hop from place to place, help wherever I was needed. I'd probably avoid Africa for awhile, but maybe I'd even go back there someday.

"They're planning on having everyone out by the weekend," Karina said. We took down some cots and set them on the ground. A truck was coming later to load them up.

"What are you doing next?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Probably stay here and help in the office. I just live in Bakersfield, so I can always work out of that office too."

Her cell phone rang. I kept working as she took the call. When she hung up, I saw something bothered her.

"What?"

"The winds are picking up again. Weather reports are showing they won't stop for a couple of days."

I picked up the cot I'd just put down, and set it up again.

The winds were the worst enemy during a fire. When they picked up, they just fed the fire and spread it further. It made it that much easier for the fire to jump areas. A flame could hop over one street and set the next on fire. Which meant the street in the middle would be surrounded and eventually consumed by the fire anyway. The stakes were rising.

Sure enough, the winds did pick up. That night, we had a fresh load of refugees. We would be about 80 full at the stadium.

Karina was furiously at work to hand out supplies and make sure people had a cot to sleep on. I was taking down names and making calls. I called the office for some backup. We just needed more people if this was going to keep up. It wasn't just me and Karina, but there were only so many workers here.

It was about 10 o'clock when I heard someone crying. I was used to that, but there was desperation in the cries that caught my attention. It was mourning.

"No, we have to go back!" the voice said. It was a woman, probably 35 or so. Her husband, I assumed, held her tightly.

"They won't let us," he said as soothingly as possible. "Someone will find him."

I heard the doubt in his voice. As the couple came up to me, I saw they had two daughters who looked tear-stained and frightened. The girls were maybe 5 and 10 years old. All of them were Asian, but by their lack of any accents, they were Americans.

I blinked. Something tugged at my mind—

"We can't leave him!" the woman shrieked. She beat against her husband's chest, but he just held her. The two girls were even more frightened by their mom's outburst.

I cleared my throat. "What's wrong?" _Beyond being evacuated and your house burning down._ The husband looked my way somewhat apologetically, but I saw a deep sadness to his eyes.

"We got separated from our son," he said. Suddenly, his wife drew back.

"He's alone! What if he doesn't find any help? He'll be burned—"

"Angie, please!" the husband tried to quiet her with a deliberate glance at the daughters. Angie broke down again in tears. I looked around for someone to help. I wasn't used to _this_ much emotion. But the help was me, and I remembered that quickly enough to go to them.

While Angie sobbed, the husband quietly whispered in my direction.

"It's Sam," he said. "He's eight years old. He went out to play, even though we told him to stay inside. We heard the fires might come our way, but not this fast. Someone came and forced us to leave. They wouldn't listen. They said there wasn't any time to delay." Tears started to flood his eyes. He tried to smile at his daughters just to keep up appearances, but I knew the kids saw through it. "We don't know where he is."

"Yes we do!" Angie said, more loudly than necessary. "He probably went into the woods, down by the creek. He brought home a frog from it yesterday, Tim!"

Tim, the husband, tried to shush her gently. "I ran down there, Angie. He wasn't there."

"Maybe he got lost," she said next. "It was getting dark. He would have come home soon." I just watched between the two of them, and suddenly I knew what this reminded me of, in some bizarre way. A mother, mourning her son, by a burnt hut . . . somewhere in Asia. The link jarred me. It wasn't even connected beyond my crazy brain, but my heart ached for this mother. What if tomorrow her son was found, harmed by the fire? What if she wailed and cradled his burnt body?

I swallowed.

"Where would he go, if he were lost?" I found myself asking. Tim looked at me, surprised at the question.

"He'd go home," he said, laughing just once at the irony. "We always taught them to go home in an emergency. It's supposed to be safe there."

Angie choked on a sob.

"Please . . ." she trailed off. I don't think she knew what to ask for. She was just desperate.

I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.

"What's your address?" I asked. "And what does your son look like? Do you have a photo?"

Tim and Angie stared at me.

I took their information and got on the phone. I started with the National Guard contact we had.

"John, hey, it's Jane Sorenson at the stadium," I said. "I have an address here, if someone can check it out. There's a missing boy that might be there."

I wasn't happy with the answer I got. The address was right in the path of the fires, and it was already getting too late to go back and check. Unless I was 100 sure that the boy would be there, they couldn't pull anyone away to check, not when others were in harm's way elsewhere too.

"_Even if it weren't risky, I don't think we could make it on time."_

I hung up. I got the same line about the certainty of my information being questioned from two other contacts, and I couldn't reach anyone at the fire department. That was understandable, given how busy they were, but with each call, I felt useless.

Angie and Tim sat just out of ear-shot, watching me. With each phone call, I could tell they were losing hope.

I let go of the phone. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. _What else can I do?_ The photo in Lake's house kept flashing in my mind. This wasn't about Lake, I kept telling myself, but the horror of that moment somehow messed with my emotions here. What if no one else could help? What if Sam was out there, and no one would even try to get to him?

The paper with the address stared at me, next to a photo of Sam that Tim had taken from his wallet. I grabbed both.

"Karina!" I called out.

I walked through the stadium where she was. I weaved around all the people to get to her. As I did, I saw a National Guardsman helping out too.

"I'll be back. Cover the front if you can," I said to Karina in passing.

"What?!"

I didn't stop. I went up to the guardsman.

"Hey, I need your help," I said. The guardsman had the name Winston tacked onto his uniform. He still had acne and a baby-face that gave away his lack of experience.

"Yes ma'am."

"You have a vehicle here?" I asked, leading the way to an exit. Winston stuttered.

"Uh, yes ma'am."

"Good. I need it." Winston stopped in his tracks.

"I have orders not to leave. I'm supposed to stay here and help," he said.

"And the help I need is something with wheels. You can drive if you want," I said. He hesitated.

"Where do you need to go?" He pulled out the keys from his pocket.

I smiled, and passed him the address. He frowned. "I can't take you _there,_" he said, as if it was the most preposterous thing ever. "That's right where the fires are."

He looked at me like that would sway me. I just stared at him. The light came on in his brain, I think.

"No," he said firmly, like I just offered him drugs. His mom would be proud.

"Fine." I snatched the paper from him. "Keys."

Winston stuttered again. "To the car?" I nodded. "No, ma'am, my CO says—"

I sighed, and just reached out and took them from Winston's hand.

"What—hey!"

I moved quickly and steadily out the exit. I think Winston was too scared to stop me. _Fine by me. _I got out to the parking lot and easily spotted which vehicle was Winston's. It was a modified Jeep, camouflaged. That would help in case there were any official roadblocks. I didn't know if the authorities did that or not. I checked the back of the Jeep, hoping for supplies, particularly—yep, there it was. An oxygen mask and small portable tank. A fire jacket, extinguisher, and a first aid kit. I hoped I wouldn't need any of it, but I had no idea what I was getting into.

I got in the Jeep and turned the ignition on. Looking to the rearview mirror, I questioned myself just once. Was this crazy or worth it? I looked at the photo of Sam, and again imagined his mother crying over his dead body.

I put the Jeep in gear and took off out of the parking lot.

-0-0-0-

a/n: Sorry! I meant to post this sooner, but I got caught up with work. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews and thoughtful comments. I love hearing them!


	20. The Fire Line

Chapter Twenty: The Fire Line

With the help of a built-in GPS in the Jeep, I found my way to the area Angie and Tim lived. I knew I had to be in the right area, because of the orange glow in the sky. Choppers flew above me, heading to the fires. It was nearing midnight, but with all the firelight, it looked like dawn.

I turned down one street. Ahead, I saw a fire truck, spraying down houses that weren't yet burned. I figured they were doing this for when the fire came—maybe the homes wouldn't catch fire.

I turned left, following the little directions on the GPS. I got further from the trucks, and closer to the fire. The smoke seeped in through the air filter. I started to think I might not be able to get through, or worse, that I might just not make it at all. The smoke wasn't good for the lungs, and that's all that filled the air here.

I turned again, and headed down another street. Another five minutes, and the GPS beeped at me.

I was here.

I stared through the windshield. The fire was maybe half a mile away. I could see the tree tops burning. The wind was strong; flames whipped wildly in the air. Awed and terrified, I stepped out of the Jeep.

The heat washed over me, even from here.

"Hurry up," I told myself aloud. I swallowed, and then ran for Tim and Angie's house.

The front door was locked. They said Sam would come here, but I hoped they let the kid have a key. I rang the bell, wondering at the same time if that was ridiculous.

No one came to the door. _He might be afraid._ I grabbed a potted plant by the door and threw it through a decorative side window. Carefully, I reached in and unlocked the door.

The house was empty and quiet, but I could hear the burning outside.

"Sam?" I called out. I quickly went from room to room. It was a nice house, and it was a shame that it might just burn down. I went to the master bedroom. As a kid, when I got scared, that's where I went.

"Sam?" No answer. I swept through the kitchen and living room, but no one was there.

I went outside through the back door. The backyard extended into a distant treeline. _The creek._ Angie or Tim had said Sam went there sometimes.

I ran back to the Jeep and grabbed the little oxygen mask and tank. I threw on the fire jacket, and took off towards the backyard. I wasn't thinking, not really. If I had, I would have realized how dangerous this was. Not just for me, but if anyone came looking for me, I was just putting them in danger. The only thing that got through my thick skull was if I could really do this. Who was I to rush in like this? To try and find an 8-year-old boy? Damn my motivations—what did those matter to my ability?

I had no training. I was just a girl. _Stupid girl_, I reminded myself. Last time I'd helped someone (I avoided his name in my mind even), I ended up shot, roughed up, hunted, and broken-hearted.

_But you saved him_.

I hated it when I was right.

The backyard was edged with the wild treeline. The fire was raging to the left, but with that treeline, it would spread quickly. I ran through the trees until I came to the creek. Creek was a generous word—this was a trickle of water.

"Sam!"

I coughed. The air was like a barbeque smokehouse. I took a breath of air from the hand-held tank.

"Sam!" I turned in every direction. Nothing. I figured Sam was smart enough not to run towards the fire. Maybe he went away from it, following the creek? Either that, or he wandered into the woods more. But the fire would just feed and circle him back there.

I took my best guess and followed the creek.

I ran hard, hopping over logs and rocks. My lungs heaved harder than they should have. I had to stop and take a breath from the tank.

"Sam!" I wished I knew his last name, but it probably didn't matter. How many people named Sam were running around in the middle of a wildfire?

The creek ended after another five minutes of running. The water just went underground. Trees surrounded me. _Where would he go next?_ Suddenly I doubted myself. Maybe he had gone to a neighbor's. Maybe someone already found him. How long should I stay out here, before I had to throw in the towel?

I looked back the way I'd come. The trees that were on fire were closer. The fire was spreading. My way out of this was back ten minutes or so, parked in the house's driveway.

"Sam!! Son of Angie and Tim!!"

And then I thought I heard something. Fire can do strange things—I remembered that from _Backdraft._ Thank goodness for meaningless education from modern movies. What confused me was that the sound, if it was a person, came from the left—further into the trees. I could see flames licking the sky in that direction too.

"Sam? Are you there?"

Someone screamed. It had to be a person.

I ran with all my might towards the sound.

"Keep screaming!" I said between gasps. I stopped to hear him. The sound came back in towards the fire more. _Of course._ I groaned, took a breath of oxygen, and ran some more.

"Sam!" I called out. The air was hotter. I was sweating in the fire jacket, but I wasn't about to take it off. Embers flew in the wind. The fire burned ahead of me by the distance of a football field, and with the wind it sounded like it was roaring, louder than ever. _This is stupid!_ But I couldn't give up now.

Someone coughed behind me. I whirled around, and hunkered down by a rock was a small Asian boy. He coughed hard.

"Sam?" I ran to his side. He looked at me with fear and awe at the same time. "It's okay. Your parents sent me."

Sam had his arm cradled. He whimpered between words: "How do I know they did?"

_Seriously?!_ The kid was going to question me _now?_ I'm all for teaching kids to be cautious, but not in the middle of life-or-death situations.

"Your mom is named Angie. Your dad is Tim," I said. "You have two sisters, one younger than you and the other older."

Sam wasn't completely convinced, but he started crying.

"It's going to be okay," I said, lying because what did I know? "Let's get out of here, okay?" I reached out for him, but he drew back with a shriek. I blinked. What was wrong with this kid?

Then I saw it. His right arm was cradled because it was burnt. I saw layers of his skin showed through. I tried not to throw up.

"Okay, that's okay," I said. I was rambling. "We'll get that fixed."

Behind us, a tree exploded. I screamed and fell to my knees, over Sam. My mind flashed back to Nigeria. Were the rebels here too? An instant later, I knew it was the fire, superheating the trees. Sam wailed loud enough above the roar of the fire.

"Sam, can you walk?"

He nodded between his cries. I grabbed his left hand.

"Let's go!" I led us back the way I'd come.

The fire was closing in faster. New trees caught on fire almost as we passed them. I think I was heading back to Sam's house, but really, the fire was driving me whichever way it wanted. I just moved as fast as I could with Sam by me, whichever way that was unburnt.

Sam stumbled, crying out as he tripped to the ground.

"I want my mom!" he cried out. He cradled his arm to his chest, and then he started coughing heavily. I could hardly breathe as it was. I got out the oxygen and put it to his mouth.

"Breathe, okay?" He did. I kept my eyes on the trees, then looked ahead. The creek was there. We had to be close. I took the mask from Sam and breathed deep a few times for me. "Okay, we're going to keep going."

Sam whimpered. He was sluggish in getting to his feet. I was practically dragging him, but stopped by the creek. I dipped my hands in the water and took a sip. The water tasted bitter. I spat it out and settled for just cooling down my face. I dipped my hands in it and wiped it over Sam's face.

"Sam, are you okay?"

Sam shook his head. His lip stuck out, pouting, but I didn't doubt him. I let him breathe from the mask again, and then put the mask back over my face. I stuck the little tank in the pocket of the jacket, and then picked up Sam.

He didn't protest at all. His eyes were wide, and he just looked at me as I held him. He kept his arm cradled against his body. I started running again.

My progress was wobbly. Eight-year-olds aren't light. I kept looking down at him, making sure he was awake. I didn't know how bad the air was, but the last thing I wanted was for him to pass out.

I broke through the treeline, and seeing houses was a welcome sight. The backdoor to Sam's house was still open, where I'd checked before. I ran towards the house, grateful that we'd made it. I cut through the house and nearly collapsed.

"Sam, I have to set you down." My arms couldn't take anymore. My shoulders felt like they were going to rip out. I set Sam down on the kitchen counter.

"Where are my mom and dad?" he asked. I took off the mask so I could speak more clearly.

"They are at the stadium. They were evacuated earlier." It might have been Greek to him. I didn't take time to explain. I turned to the fridge. Inside was a carton of juice. I unscrewed the top and guzzled some straight from the carton. I saw a bottle of Gatorade in the fridge too, and unscrewed that for Sam.

"Here."

The poor kid guzzled it just as eagerly. I downed some more juice and closed the fridge.

"We have to go," I said. I held out my hand to Sam. He hopped off the counter, still shielding his right arm, and took my hand.

What greeted us outside made me stop in my tracks.

The street was on fire. Not literally, but the trees across the street had caught fire. The homes across the street were lit up. The fire had jumped here quickly. I looked down the street, which was a different way than I'd driven in. It was open, for now, but flames and embers flew around like a freak laser show.

I ran to the Jeep, pulling Sam behind me. I set him inside through the driver's side.

"Crawl over!" I yelled. I got in after him, and turned the ignition.

We sped off down the street. In my rearview mirror, flames licked everywhere I could see. I pressed harder on the gas.

And then braked hard. This was a cul-de-sac.

My eyes were wide. I flipped the car around, facing the fire. Trees were falling onto the road, and the flames reached to close up the street entirely and consume the houses on the other side. I could floor it and just try to break through the streets I'd come in on. But there were so many turns that I would have to drive through the fire at some point, multiple times. I didn't like that idea.

I could take the Jeep off-roading, into the yards and beyond. But I wasn't sure where I could go. I tapped at the GPS. It was useless for conventional directions, but I pushed a few buttons to get a broader view of where I was. There were other roads northwest of us that should be fine, I figured. I just had to get there—

Suddenly I heard that explosion again. Sam screamed. I heard the groaning of wood, and then a flash of orange and white light as a burning tree trunk fell across the road in front of us. It nicked the hood of the Jeep, jostling us inside.

"Get out, now!" I threw open the door, wincing at the heat. It was practically burning me without touching my body. I reached for Sam and held him against me. I was probably hurting his arm, but there was no time for that. I went around to the back of the Jeep and threw open the trunk. I grabbed one of the emergency kits, hoping it would have a fire blanket if we needed it, and then I ran with Sam in my arms. The flames consumed the metal and plastic of the Jeep.

I was panicking. As I ran to what I hoped was still northwest, I also hoped I would have enough air and energy to keep going. What if I didn't? What if I passed out, and Sam was left on his own? What if the fire caught up with us? I could still feel it heating my back. My arms were already tired before. Could I keep carrying Sam?

I cut through backyards, some that were on fire and others waiting in the path of the fire, which now was coming from three directions. My way out was narrowing with each second. The wind was tossing the fire to enclose us. If that happened, we wouldn't make it out.

I coughed hard. I had to stop to drain some air from the mask. I gave it to Sam, and I think he figured out himself how much better that air was for him. I picked him up again.

Something ahead sounded different. It was this hissing noise, but it wasn't like fire eating something. The houses were dark against the night sky. It was probably past 1 am now. I came around the corner of a house, glancing over my shoulder at the fire that was behind us.

"Look!" Sam said. I looked ahead.

There sat a fire truck, spraying the homes with some sort of suppressant. My eyes watered, and I don't think it was just the smoke.

"Hey!" I heard someone shout in our direction. I saw the firefighter manning the hose point at me. My knees suddenly felt weak. Wearily, relieved, I walked towards them.

-0-0-0-

The firemen thought I was crazy, but I didn't really care. They administered some first aid to Sam's arm.

"We should get him to a hospital," one said. Another offered me some oxygen. I took it but didn't put it on yet.

"No," I said. "His family's at the stadium. Take us there first."

The firemen had other priorities, which I understood. I just ran through the fire they were sent to fight. They drove us over to a National Guard truck, this one manned by three men. They loaded us inside the truck.

Sam cuddled against me. I guess I looked less scary now compared to the guardsmen who were decked out in uniform and fire gear. His arm looked better, but mainly because it was bandaged now.

Along the way, I rested my head against the backseat. I heard the guardsmen radioing ahead. I imagined they were chatting around to COs or whatever. Maybe even to Winston, the twerp. I think I heard something about a vehicle being stolen by the stadium. I grinned.

Winston was waiting when the guardsmen pulled up. He looked ticked, but I really didn't care. I hopped out of the truck.

"Where's the Jeep?" he demanded. I chuckled and reached for Sam.

"Scrap metal now," I said. Winston's eyes went wide. "Don't worry. My taxes dollars will cover it."

I held Sam and walked towards the stadium.

Karina suddenly appeared.

"Jane!" She gasped. I must have looked fabulous. But behind her appeared Angie and Tim. When Angie and Tim came running at us, their faces relieved and full of hope as they saw Sam, it hit me what I'd done. I made it back. Somehow, I was still alive. And so was Sam.

They hugged him tight, and I didn't mind the sound of their cries. It wasn't fueled by anguish anymore. It was relief, joy, love, emotional overload.

"What were you thinking?" Karina scolded, but I wasn't listening. I shed the fire jacket and let it fall to the ground behind me. "You could have been killed!"

I've heard that before. I didn't bother to defend my reasons. I just looked back at Angie. She was holding her son, cradling him. And Sam, alive and well enough, held his mom back.

I turned back to the stadium, and nearly lost my balance. I blinked a few times, thinking the smoke was still screwing with my eyes. Someone stood there, watching me, looking over me from where he stood. The mohawk looked styled, the first time I'd really seen it that way, and those light green eyes worriedly sought mine.

I just stood there, staring at Lake.

-0-0-0-

a/n: Thank you for all the reviews! Let me know what you think of this chapter. Just a note, I don't really know how fire protocols works, so I took some liberties—but I think the firemen and National Guard, etc. all do a great job in pulling together in cases of emergency. Don't think differently based on this chapter! Thanks:o)


	21. Cool Down

a/n: Okay, so this took awhile to get ready. Let me just explain that I've rewritten it at least three times, and hopefully I won't hate this tomorrow, but trust me when I say it's better than the other versions I wrote. Let me know what you think, though, and thanks for the reviews!

By the way, I found a new Tears of the Sun fic. It's called Paralyzer by curlingsmoke.

Chapter Twenty-One: Cool-down

Seeing him now, I didn't know if I had the energy for this. Not now. How had he found me? Why? But of my problems, Lake was secondary. Winston and two National Guard stepped in front of me.

"She's the one who stole the Jeep," Winston was saying. I rolled my eyes. "And now it's been destroyed."

One of the guardsmen, a man with a buzz cut that he must have given himself, looked me in the eye. Was he trying to intimidate me?

"Is that true ma'am?" he asked. _Seriously?_ Did I have to deal with this now? _Now_?!

"Yes," I sighed out. "Although, I asked Winston here to take me. When he refused, I drove myself."

"In his vehicle," the guardsman corrected.

"In the government's vehicle," I corrected back. Just then Angie, Sam's mom, cut past the men and hugged me. I heard her sniffle. I was torn between wanting to acknowledge her and glaring at the National Guard in front of me.

"Thank you," she said in my ear. "You saved him." She drew back, and through her watery eyes, I knew no matter what I'd done the right thing. I could only nod. She smiled and retreated to her family. I saw Sam wave at me with his good arm before his parents led him away.

The guardsmen looked a little reluctant after that. I saw Lake shift from the corner of my eye.

"Listen," the guardsman said, "while we know you did a good thing, someone has to answer for this. Stealing government property is against the law."

"I'm pretty sure stealing _anything_ is against the law," I said back. The look I got back was priceless. I almost smiled.

"Then you understand that we need to place you under arrest."

Suddenly Lake stepped in front of me, and Karina got protective too.

"You can't do that!" Karina said. "I'm calling the Red Cross." She turned to do so, although I wondered who she would reach at this hour. What time was it anyway? I lost track somewhere.

"You really think Uncle Sam cares about one car?" Lake said. I snuck a glance his way, The smirk on his face was slightly unnerving. He took another step towards the guardsmen and Winston. I saw them look to each other.

The one guardsman spoke up. "Sir, this isn't your concern." His hand fell by his side, at ease but ready by his sidearm. Was he _that_ afraid of Lake? Lake noticed the movement.

"If it involves her, it's my concern," Lake said. I should have been excited by that, but it annoyed me instead. Who did he think he was, coming in and acting like he had some pull where I was concerned? Especially in front of other people.

"Sir, we need you to stand back," Winston said. His voice cracked. I smiled. _Coward._ Lake must have been thinking the same thing. He relaxed his stance enough that the other guardsmen loosened up.

"No wonder she had to go and do your job for you." It took me a second to realize what he'd said. Apparently, judging by the delayed reaction from Winston, it took him awhile too. His face went red.

Winston pointed a finger at Lake's face, close enough that I thought Lake would pound him back if necessary.

"I had orders!" Winston said a little loudly. People around us were looking. "You wouldn't understand!" His voice was getting higher with the more excited he got. I chuckled. The guardsmen and Lake looked in my direction.

I smiled at the guardsmen. "He understands better than you think." Winston leaned back from his aggressive stance. He warily gauged Lake. "That's it. Retreat, Winston. This time it's a smart move."

"Who are you?" one guardsman asked Lake. Lake just smiled. His green eyes sparkled in a challenging way, but it was sexy too. I couldn't take my eyes off him.

"Tell you what," he said, "have your CO call my CO." The National Guard boys straightened up at that. "Have him explain what happened. After my CO stops laughing, you'll get the picture and see how meaningless one vehicle is compared to who she is—" he pointed at me—"and what she's done. And what she's done here is just the tip of the iceberg for the army. As a civilian she's done more than you'll probably do your whole career."

I wasn't the only one baffled by his speech.

-0-0-0-

Karina was relieved when she got off the phone with whoever she tried calling. The National Guard rethought their position, and Winston was probably skulking in a corner. I grinned at the thought.

"So who's this?" Karina asked, looking to Lake. It reminded me that I had explaining to do—

_Wait!_ I didn't have any explaining to do. Lake was the one who showed up without any reason, and I was still ticked—hurt too—at how he'd brushed me off in Norfolk. I felt anxious, but that made me even madder. If anyone should feel uneasy here, it was Lake!

I cleared my throat. "No one." Lake cocked his head to one side. With the mohawk, it looked even more pronounced. I turned to Karina. "Sorry I left you without explaining."

Karina looked between me and Lake. "I'm just glad you're okay. That family was freaking out, and that Winston guy was all high-strung." She looked Lake's way, still curious. "I'm Karina."

She held out her hand to him. Lake glanced at me before shaking her hand.

"Lake," he said simply. Karina was expecting a first name. Who wouldn't?

"Call him Kelly," I said. Lake actually looked miffed at me. I smiled sweetly.

"Nice to meet you," Karina said nervously. "Jane, you look a little pale. You need anything?"

I looked pale? I shook my head.

"Why don't I take you home?" Lake suggested. He reached for my arm. I stepped out of his reach.

"I'll take a cab," I said firmly. Karina's eyes shifted back and forth between us.

"No, she won't," Lake said without looking at Karina. I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

"I can take care of myself."

Lake raised an eyebrow. "Really? You almost got arrested by the National Guard."

"Oh please!"

He had that cocky non-smile on his face. "If I hadn't come, you might be in a cell." _Great. He's rubbing it in._

"You really think you 'saved' me from that?" I challenged. "I didn't need you. Just like you don't need me, remember?"

That was a low blow, but I didn't care. How dare he think I owed him something. Wait, was that what was going on? I was confusing myself. My head was starting to feel a little light. _Lack of oxygen_, I told myself. I took a deep breath.

Suddenly my left leg buckled. I stuck out my hand to catch myself, and felt Lake grab my right arm.

"Jane!" He put his arm around my waist to support me, even though by then I'd straightened my leg and was back on my feet.

"Jane?" Karina's voice reminded me she was still around. "What's wrong?" I pushed Lake's arm off me.

"Nothing—"

"She's in shock," Lake talked over me. He kept a hand on my arm. I pushed him away from me, staggering back as I did so. What was up with my legs?!

"Seriously?" Karina asked again.

"I'm fine." And then my hands started shaking. I stared down at them. Not just my hands, but my arms were trembling too. I quickly crossed my arms in front of me.

"It's shock," Lake said again. I rolled my eyes.

"Is that your diagnosis for everything?" I looked to Karina. "It's not shock."

Oh really?" Lake started. I think I was ticking him off. "In a minute you're going to throw up." My eyes flashed with embarrassment and anger.

"I will not!"

Karina kept glancing between us.

"You did last time around," Lake shot back.

"How do you two know each other?" Karina asked.

"Doesn't matter," I said. "Karina, can you call a cab?"

"No, don't call a cab," Lake interrupted, yet again. "I know you're pissed at me, Jane, but let me help."

I was starting to feel sick to my stomach. This couldn't be happening. I would NOT throw up. Not in front of Lake, again, and certainly when I had no reason to feel sick. Stubbornly, I kept arguing.

"How would you help?" My stomach churned, and my mouth went dry. I knelt down gingerly on the ground, groaning as I did.

"What's wrong?" Karina asked. Her voice was suddenly annoying to me.

"She's feeling sick," Lake said.

"Am not," I muttered.

"Lie down," he said, unaffected by my denial. I wanted to fight his command, but my body gave in. I lied down on the pavement.

"I'll get some water," Karina said. I didn't want her to go. I didn't want to be left with Lake, not like this, weak and tired and . . .

"I told you it was shock."

If looks could kill, I would have gladly set back Lake for life.

"Yeah, probably brought on by you," I muttered.

"I don't know everything you just did, but you're tired, dehydrated, and you look like hell," he said. "If it's because of me or not, your body still can't handle something."

I hated how he twisted my words.

"What are you doing here? Don't you have some assignment to be on?" I asked as a wave of nausea hit me. My skin felt hot. I shut my eyes, partially to block out Lake's face, hovering over me.

"I'm on leave still," he said. "Navy docs still think I need time to recover." At those words, part of me felt bad. I'd gone straight to the aggressive defense, forgetting his injuries and just how close I came to losing him.

_You did lose him_, I reminded myself. _He wanted it that way_. I amended my thoughts: I'd forgotten how close he'd come to dying.

My sense of guilt melted away. I had every reason to be angry. I repeated that in my head, my personal mantra. Now if only my body could back me up with a little energy.

"Any better?" Lake asked. My stomach hadn't revolted yet, but the night was young. I ignored his question and stared at him.

"Why are you here?"

He looked away. Was that remorse somewhere in those green eyes? He sat down on the ground next to me, his knees propped up and his arms leaning over them.

Lake took his time answering. "I came to find you." I blinked. I was expecting a more round-about answer. "I called your apartment in Ohio. Called your parents. Tracked you down to here." He shrugged.

Nice, but it didn't explain anything. I didn't ease up at all in my expression. He cleared his throat.

"Red finally convinced me I was an idiot," he said. He smiled to himself. "He used a different word, but you get the drift. Normally I listen to Red, but . . . I saw you and him kiss."

The blood drained from my face. Actually, I think it was already gone, but I felt a chill. He saw us kiss?! My mind flew with the possibilities. If he'd seen us, then did he think . . . Which was why he acted the way he did . . . Jealous? Envious? . . . Betrayed . . .

"I know it was Red who . . . initiated it," Lake said uncomfortably. "He told me what you said. How you felt. You were already gone for a few weeks, and he and I had to work stuff out before I'd listen, but . . . anyway, I came as soon as I could."

I got the impression that 'working stuff out' between Red and Lake involved a physical confrontation and not just words. Probably not the best for Lake's recovery. I wasn't sure how I felt about what Lake had said. I was excited—it was a misunderstanding. But that didn't excuse how quickly he'd dropped me.

"Jane?" He watched me expectantly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His features darkened at the question. "I kept convincing myself that somehow I'd made more of everything than I should have. Come on, you told me to get lost."

"I didn't say 'get lost,'" Lake objected.

"That was the gist of it," I said back. He scowled at me. But after a few moments, he looked to the ground again and relented.

"I thought my friend had gone after the one girl I'd cared for in a long time," he said. "The woman who saved my life. Who kept me going through one of the hardest missions I've ever had. You saw me react in a way I'm not proud of."

My chest ached again, this time with hope and not despair. I sat up. Lake put his hands out to catch me, but I was feeling better, physically. Emotionally, I had my doubts. I looked to Lake, saw his eyes search mine for some sort of response. The girl in me wanted to shout for joy, but I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. I didn't trust him, not with my heart.

That was my answer then, wasn't it? I felt a drop on my head. I looked up at the sky and saw more drops fall. It was raining. That was good for the fires. I didn't know what else to think though—somehow it fit also with how I felt.

"Lake." I drew a deep breath. "I don't know what to think. With you." I opened my mouth to say more, but I couldn't think clearly. "I—I just don't . . ."

I threw my head back with a sigh, watching raindrops fall until they hit me. The rain felt cold, maybe because I was still hot and sweaty from the fire. I didn't want to think how I looked. I shut my eyes.

"Here's some water," Karina said, trotting up with no idea how relieved I was for someone to interrupt right then. I took the water and downed most of the bottle. Karina looked at Lake. He looked beyond downtrodden. Karina glanced at me. I couldn't say any more to him. I couldn't do this.

"Karina, can you just take me home?" I asked, my voice small. I know she was planning on staying longer, but I needed the simple way out of here. She looked to Lake again. This time he didn't object.

"Sure. I think everything's under control here anyway."

I moved to stand up. Lake gave me his hand. I stared at it before letting him help me up. Once on my feet, I turned away, but Lake held onto my hand. There was no choice but to face him.

"Please." He swallowed. "Meet me tomorrow. Anywhere." I nodded without really thinking. I was feeling weak again and wanted nothing more than to sit down again, but that would be just as difficult as moving on.

"Where?" he asked as I walked away with Karina.

"I don't care," I muttered. He called after me.

"Cory's, in the middle of the boardwalk at Mission Beach," he said. "Noon?"

I glanced over my shoulder without answering. The water was threatening to come back up from my stomach. I followed Karina and left as quickly as I could.


	22. The Mohawk and the Smoothie

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Mohawk and the Smoothie

Morning caught me in a much better state. Sleep is an amazing thing. Who would have thought 8 hours would help that much?

Of course, by the time I got back to the hotel and got in bed, it was 3 a.m., which means when I woke up, it was 11 a.m. Karina was pacing for me to stir.

"Are you going?" she asked when I emerged in jeans and a t-shirt a half hour later. I knew exactly what she meant, but I played dumb.

"Where?"

"To see him!" I had to smile at her exasperation. "He's meeting you at noon."

"I know," I said. I sighed and plopped down on the couch. "I'm not sure." Karina's eyes bulged.

"Okay, did you _see_ him?" she said. "He's hot!" I stared at her before I busted out laughing. "Well, sorry, but he is! And he obviously cares about you."

The cynic in me debated that. "Sometimes," I said. Karina studied me.

"What happened between you two?"

I rolled my neck, cracking it, and then I stared up at the ceiling. How or should I even answer that? Given what I'd promised LT and Captain Rhodes _not_ to say, I wasn't sure I should really pinpoint how I'd met Lake. _But she didn't ask that._

"What happened?" I repeated. "He basically blew me off because he thought I was interested in someone else."

Karina stalled.

"Nice, huh?" I filled in. "I don't know if it's a good idea for me to go through that again."

"How long have you known each other?" she asked. Hmm, that was another complicated question.

"Not long," I answered. "We only knew each other for a couple of weeks, if that, before things went bad."

Karina gasped. "Two weeks, and he's out here looking for you? Wow." I blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Karina said, laughing at me, "most guys won't lift a finger for a girl they barely know. And he came to your rescue." I rolled my eyes.

"He did _not_ come to my rescue."

"He did, and you should be flattered. So what if he screwed up? Give him another chance."

I left the hotel reluctantly at noon.

-0-0-0-

With traffic in any part of California (and San Diego no exception), it took me awhile to get to the boardwalk. I didn't rush though. I leisurely strolled down the boardwalk until I saw Cory's. It wasn't much to look at. A basic bar and grill place, probably where you hang out with friends after work, but not a date place.

I was fine with that.

Then I saw Lake. He was sitting on the sidewalk outside the grill, his knees propped up and his arms resting on the kneecaps. He wore sunglasses. I'd never seen him in sunglasses before. With the mohawk, it enhanced the bad-boy, biker look.

_Why is he still here?_ I'm not going to deny it; I was late on purpose. Checking my watch, it was 12:35, and I thought for sure he'd be gone. Maybe I was pleased he stuck around, but I dreaded this meeting.

Didn't I?

He stood up smoothly when he spotted me. Behind my own sunglasses, I took the chance to stare at him. He wore a t-shirt that played up the sexy rebel look—a black shirt texturized with rips and patches. It wasn't sloppy, and on him, it looked intimidating. Funny that a guy with a mohawk could be intimidating, instead of ridiculous. In my mind, I laughed at my own thoughts.

The pants he wore were khaki cargoes, made more for the skater than a 30-ish male. I was glad I didn't dress up at all. My jeans were the old pair you always keep because they're a comfort, and a small men's t-shirt from a surf shop. Nothing fancy. I didn't have to impress him, I reminded myself when I got dressed.

I stopped ten feet away from him. A blonde on rollerblades weaved between us. I expected Lake to follow her with his eyes, but he didn't take them off me. I fiddled with my hands.

"Thanks for coming," he said. Was he going to mention I was late? "Hungry?" He nodded backwards at Cory's. Truthfully, I was. I skipped breakfast, half because it was so close to lunch when I woke anyway. But the place looked stifling. I didn't want to be trapped at a table.

"There's a smoothie place two minutes that way," I said, pointing down the boardwalk. He fell in step with me in that direction.

It took the awkward two minutes to get there, during which time I asked Lake how the team was.

"They're good," he said. "A lot has been going on, but we haven't been sent out yet." He was alluding to something. Did he mean the Yakubu situation? Our government was still trying 'diplomatic' means, or so the papers reported. I nodded along without delving into that further.

We got to the smoothie place. I ordered a mango-guava concoction, and Lake ordered some weird juice I'd never heard of. I let him pay.

While we waited for our order to be made, we sat on abnormally tall stools. We were far enough apart that we could have been there separately. There were several customers in the store as we waited, some waiting for their orders like us, and a few new arrivals. I noticed that as everyone waited, inevitably their eyes wandered to Lake. One woman, probably in her 40s, quickly looked away as soon as she laid eyes on him. A man in his 50s frowned openly in his direction.

I wondered what they thought. What did they think of Lake, just superficially in their snap judgments? Wasn't this California? There were more diverse, 'interesting' people here than anywhere else west of the Mississippi, so why were they wary of Lake?

Lake shifted, his eyes raking over the other customers. I saw a few flinch and look down. I had to cough and cover my mouth to hide a grin.

"Lake!" The servers behind the counter shouted his name. Our order was up. I could feel everyone's eyes on both of us now as we got our cups. Maybe I surprised them, being with Lake.

As we left the place, a father with his son pulled the boy out of Lake's way. I shot the man a withering look. He did a double-take at me. I glared at him more, figuring I might as well give him a legitimate reason to fear one of us.

I shook my head once we got outside.

"Are you used to that?" I asked him. Lake frowned, until he saw me point back at the smoothie place. He smiled.

"Yeah. Kind of fun, isn't it?"

We walked along the boardwalk, sipping our drinks. I felt a little easier now, but I waited for him to speak next. It wasn't my idea to be here.

"How's the boy?" he said suddenly. I blinked. _Boy?_

"Oh, Sam?" I clarified. He probably didn't know Sam was his name, but Lake nodded anyway. "I assume he's okay. His arm got burned, but I imagine his parents took him to the hospital."

"You haven't heard from them?"

I shook my head. "I just met them last night." _Why would I hear from them?_ Lake smiled.

"That was really brave of you, what you did," he said. I opened my mouth to thank him—"Suicidal, but brave."

My teeth clanged as I snapped my mouth shut. I took a breath. "Suicidal?"

"It's becoming a habit, risking your life to save someone else," he said. His tone was so nonchalant, but I heard some amusement. I got ready to rail into him— "Hey, don't get mad. I'm certainly not complaining."

"Are you mocking me?"

He smiled. "Complimenting."

"Sure you are."

He shut up and we kept at our drinks. I heard him slurp at the ends of his juice. He tossed the cup in a trash, and stopped, staring out at the ocean. I stood awkwardly nearby, but I didn't want to be right next to him. I looked to the shops on the other side of the boardwalk, and drained more of my smoothie.

"I guess I should just get to it," he said. He circled around so he was standing in front of me. He took off his sunglasses and pocketed them in the cargoes, then tucked his hands in his side pockets. "I don't know if it came out clear enough last night, but I'm here for you." I blinked.

"For me?" I heard him fine, but he just blurted it out.

"I know you're still mad," he said. "I hurt you. After everything you did to keep me alive, and after everything we survived, I let some stupid jealousy get in the way, but I can't change what I did."

I blinked again. I seemed frozen in place.

"I screwed up," he said. "I want to make it up to you. And so there's no confusion, I want to see you more." He winced. "Get to know you better. Date. Whatever."

He paced a little then. Finally, someone other than me was uncomfortable.

I made myself stop staring at him. What he said made my heart speed up. It wasn't eloquent, not that movie speech that any Mr. Darcy-type would come up with, but this was Lake.

Lake. Not your average guy. Not like any guy I knew, really. This was the man who'd scared me half to death and attacked me in a jungle. Who had been shot defending me and others. Who, even wounded, had taken down rebel soldiers, time and time again. But that's all I really understood about Lake.

I drew a deep breath. "Lake, I hardly know you."

"I know, but I'm really not the pig you've seen," he argued back a little earnestly. He was making this hard for me—getting desperate made him really cute. But I couldn't just be swayed by that.

"I won't sugar-coat it," I said. "You really hurt me, in Virginia." Shame clouded over his face. "I . . . I don't want to be hurt again."

He didn't say anything for awhile. We both stood there, facing each other but not looking at each other. I heard the ocean clearly, combined with people laughing and talking.

"Do you feel anything for me?" he asked. I took a step back. The question unnerved me. It felt unnatural to answer it honestly. . . .

"Yes," I whispered. There was a twitch to his eyes, some hope.

"Then take the risk," he said. "It's not even life-threatening." I shot him a look. Despite his joke:

"Everything we've been through is based on danger," I said, "and running from people trying to kill us, gunfire, bombs—" He laughed, and I gave in with a smile even though I was completely serious. "It's not normal. And that's all that we have in common."

"Maybe," he said, "Maybe not. Bombs aside, are you too afraid it won't work between us to give it a chance?"

The moment he said 'afraid' I flinched. _Afraid?_ Was fear really at the heart of things here? No, there was more to it than that, but I couldn't ignore what he said. I _was_ afraid. I knew it, and what was worse was that fear already led to so many regrets. Me, hunkered down in the hills above the village. Me, afraid to face anyone I knew there. I was such a coward, to be afraid of what could be. Especially when I knew that if we hadn't had our falling out in Norfolk, I'd be happy to be with Lake.

"You're right," he said. "We don't know what we have in common. That's why I want to find out." He stepped toe-to-toe in front of me and took both my hands in his. "Instead of people trying to kill us, I want to have a late night dinner together and just talk. Instead of hiding in a war-torn building, I want to make out with you in a movie theater, hold your bags when you're shopping, open every door for you, come back from an assignment and know you're just as excited to see me as I am to see you." He looked down at our hands. I couldn't form any words. At all. I just felt my heart bruising my chest, and his warm, rough hands on mine.

He slowly slid his right hand up my left arm until I felt it at my neck. I raised my eyes to see him. I heard his shoe scuff the ground, moving closer to me so our bodies pressed against each other. He kissed me. And it didn't take long for me to kiss him back.

I let myself enjoy the moment, fairly confident that no building would blow up around us this time. I felt him smile against my lips, and soon I was smiling too.

Gently I pushed him back. His smile turned to sheepishness, and I shot him a weird look.

"What?"

"Red told me to kiss you in case nothing else worked," he said.

I balked at that. "Seriously? Red told you that? Red, who I turned down after he kissed me?"

Lake thought that over. "Yeah." He didn't sound so confident now. I smirked at him.

"Kind of a risk, don't you think?" He was seeing the flaw in logic—

"Yeah, but it's the guy you turned down because you were in love with me." He smiled victoriously.

If I weren't charmed by that twisted logic, I might have been smacked him. Instead, I kissed him.

-0-0-0-

a/n: Thanks again for all the reviews! Next chapter to come, hopefully by early next week. Thanks!


	23. Norfolk

Chapter Twenty-Three: Norfolk

Three weeks later

I used one of my kitchen knives to slash the boxes that littered my apartment. The clutter was annoying, but that's pretty typical of moving.

Yes, moving. I left San Diego, flew back to Ohio, and packed up my things there. Stupid? Rash? Maybe. But it felt right—I was in Norfolk now. I got an apartment pretty near the base, but not far from other things too. For example, I had a job with a Red Cross branch. After my, uh, experience in San Diego, the organization thought it best to transfer me. Of course, there was all this press about a Red Cross worker who saved a boy from the fires. I managed to stay out of photos, etc., but the Red Cross was spreading the story around to any print or broadcast source. They figured it promoted donations and volunteers.

Far be it for me to complain. I still had a job.

I set the broken-down boxes against the door in a neat stack. Two days I'd been at this already. My eye caught a vase on my coffee table. I had some fruit in the kitchen, and I thought I'd put it in the vase. Kind of a natural decoration.

I got back to the boxes. I had a pile of old newspaper too—handy packing paper. My eyes went to one of the smeared headlines. It was about Africa. More unrest in Nigeria. It was often buried in the paper, never front-page news, but there was a story every few days about it.

A knock on my door made me abandon both box and paper.

"Come in!"

The door opened. I forgot about the boxes leaning against it, so when the door opened, they fell over, and then essentially blocked the door from opening any wider.

"Uh, little help?" I heard. I grinned. I kicked the boxes back and in stepped Lake. He glanced at the boxes on the floor and then at me. "Great organizational skills."

I couldn't help but smile. "It _was_ organized. You messed it up." My, he looked good. I could tell he'd cleaned up after a day at work. He tended to train with the others when they had an easy day. His hair was still wet now, and I could smell the fresh scent of his cologne. I loved that he wore cologne; not sure why. Maybe it was that it seemed kind of anti-SEAL, but that gentlemanly habit in a man so rugged just got my heart racing.

"Love what you've done with the place," he said, looking at my unpacked belongings. They were strewn everywhere and in no particular arrangement that made any sense. I knew he was teasing me. I had barstools stacked on the couch.

"Nice, huh?"

He grinned. His eyes were light; he was enjoying this, this normalcy, as much as I was. I turned to put the kitchen knife away. I let it slip into its slot on the knife block when I felt Lake's arms around my waist. He turned me so we faced each other.

"I'm really glad you're here."

I stood up on my toes and kissed him chastely on his lips. "Me too."

"You ready?" he asked. I glanced down at what I was wearing. Jeans, t-shirt, my hair back in a ponytail. Glamorous.

"Five minutes?"

Ten minutes later, we headed to Red's place. Like Lake's, it screamed bachelor who's hardly around much. But there were food, drinks, and places for people to sit. The team was hanging out for a football game on TV.

Now, I thought I knew enough about football, but Lake, Red, LT, Zee and Doc were throwing out strategy and terms that I'd never heard of. I found myself slinking back into the cushions of Red's couch.

Lena plopped down next to me—yeah, she was still around. I guess she and LT were a couple now.

"What is a down?" she asked. I blinked; somewhere in the back of my mind I knew the answer . . .

On my other side, Lake snickered. I elbowed him in the ribs. Beside him, Red chuckled.

"Serves you right," he said to Lake. He glanced past him and looked to me. "Jane, if you ever change your mind about him, I'm still here."

Lake glared at him. I saw LT and Zee exchanging looks, amused. "Stop propositioning my girlfriend," Lake said.

"Big word," Doc muttered. "Didn't know you knew anything over three syllables."

I couldn't help but laugh. I had a feeling this was how things went when the team got together to relax. Lake put his arm around me, still scowling but not really in a bad mood.

"I still don't know what a down is," Lena piped up.

"A down is—" Zee began.

"Wait, wait!" Lake stopped him. "I want to see if Jane knows." Everyone turned their eyes on me. I cleared my throat.

"Well, there are four of them," I started. I snuck a glance at the TV. I knew this! Or so I thought—maybe I just didn't have the big picture about football and how it all worked.

"'Them' meaning what?" Red prompted. I glared at him. As much as he and Lake teased each other, they were merciless when they teamed up against me.

"A play?" I said. My voice wavered. "Like, four chances to . . ."

"To?" Lake urged. I held my breath.

"To score a touchdown?"

A collective groan went through the men.

"So close," LT said. Lena shot him a look. Red patted me on the back on his way to restock barbeque chips from the kitchen.

"Nice try, Jane."

I looked to Lake. "What is it then?"

"It's four chances to move your team's position ten yards ahead. Each time you make it those ten yards or more, you reset the downs, and have four more tries. If you don't make it in four tries, you have to punt the ball, so possession goes to the other team."

I blinked. I glanced at Lena. She looked as lost as me.

"Thanks."

Red laughed in the background.

I got up later as the boys (yes, might as well call them what they were) were arguing over a bad call by the referees. I searched Red's fridge for a soda. Amazingly enough, the fridge was stocked with fruits, veggies, some meat and bread. I didn't expect that. Towards the back I spotted a lone Sprite. I grabbed it.

As I shut the fridge, Lake was suddenly next to me.

"Geez," I gasped. "Warn me next time." He grinned and took the Sprite from me. He opened the can and poured it in a glass with ice. It was kind of cute, him doing that. He held up the glass for me, and I took it and sipped a little.

"Having fun?" he asked. I gave him a glare.

"I was, until I figured out I don't understand football," I said. He smiled and put his arms around me, facing me.

"I was just teasing."

We both knew it. I opened my mouth to say—

Lake's mouth descended on mine. He gently kissed me, and then nipped at my bottom lip. I smiled and kissed him back. My eyes closed automatically as he kissed me thoroughly.

The noise from the guys and the game was even, but I opened my eyes. Red saw us. He looked away casually, but I saw something in his expression. I pulled back from Lake.

Lake shot me a questioning look. I looked to Red again. Though he joked about it, I knew Red was somewhat serious about, well, me. It wasn't a challenge to Lake; it was honestly how he felt. He really did like me. Lake followed my gaze. His jaw hardened.

"Is he bothering you?" he asked defensively. I blinked and leaned back at his tone.

"No," I said, hopefully not too quickly, "and don't act so hostile to him."

"I'm not—"

"You guys are friends and team members, not competitors," I pointed out.

"Until he makes a play for you," Lake grumbled. I sighed.

"Lake, he hasn't done a thing," I said. Lake thought about that. Slowly, he nodded in agreement. He leaned down to kiss me, but I moved back. "And don't do that."

"What?"

I smirked at him. "You're rubbing it in his face, and you know it." Lake sighed. He settled on giving me a peck on my forehead.

"How's that?" He smiled tightly, kind of his own defensive smirk. It made his dimples show. Actually, I think that's the first time I really noticed he had dimples. When he was being playful or teasing, they really showed. I couldn't help myself; I kissed him back, quick but not the most chaste kiss. It was delightful.

He grinned happily. Dang, I knew I liked him, but I think I was falling in love with him, hard.

From the couch, an electronic beep started. LT groaned. He pulled out a beeper from his pocket. I'm surprised he had a beeper—I figured a cell phone would be just as effective.

He examined the message or number on it. He frowned, and all the guys watched him carefully.

"You're all about to get paged," he said. Only two seconds passed before each of the guys' beepers went off. Lake pulled his from his pocket. One glance, and he turned it off and shoved it back in his jeans.

I waited for him to tell me what was going on—this was new to me. But he glanced at the others, all of whom were on their feet and packing up. Doc was already out the door.

Lake grabbed my hand. He offered a quick, tight smile. "We gotta go."

I knew 'we' didn't include me. He meant him and the team. I glanced at Lena, who was trailing after LT. She looked confused, but I think we both knew this was a mission. I didn't like it.

Red disappeared into his room, and came back with a ready duffle bag. He glanced at Lake.

"You have to run home," he said. Lake nodded.

"Yeah."

"Want me to drop her off?" Red offered, referring to me. Lake glanced at his watch. He frowned again.

"Yeah." I blinked. He couldn't drop me off? Lake grabbed my hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "Sorry. Short on time." I stared at him.

"What's going on?" I asked. He just smiled. He couldn't tell me. "When will you be back?"

Lake shook his head. "Not sure." He was tense, on high-alert. I could feel the excitement in him, the anticipation, but it was controlled. He was a SEAL, after all. He didn't kiss me, maybe because Red was waiting behind us. But he hugged me tight.

"See you soon," he whispered in my ear, and with that, he left. I watched him go, out Red's front door, and into his jeep, speeding off into the dark.

I turned to Red. He smiled sadly, understandingly.

"Come on," he said. "I'll drop you off on my way in."

I had a dozen questions about all this, but I kept them inside. This was a side I hadn't really considered. I'd seen Lake and the rest of the team on a mission. But I didn't think about them returning to obscure areas for more action. I didn't think that I wouldn't go with them.

Of course I wouldn't go with them. But knowing I would be far away and out of the loop about what was happening made me feel ill. If anything happened, how long would it take for someone to tell me?

Red kept looking at me. I think he could tell I was upset by this—not angry, but upset still. The guys all knew this was coming, or at least they weren't fazed by it at all. Maybe this was all normal to them. They were ready for it, excited for it. I couldn't understand how or why.

Red stopped outside my apartment. He waited for me to get out.

"Jane?" Even Red was eager to go. I just nodded and got out. As I went to shut the door, I stopped.

"Red," I started. He was about to shift into reverse, but stopped. "Be careful. And watch out for Lake."

I wondered if that request would hurt him. I wasn't trying to rub in my concern for Lake. He smiled though, and in his eyes I saw he wasn't offended. Genuine care shined back in his eyes.

"I will." He shifted the gear in reverse. "We'll be back, Jane."

I tried to smile as he pulled out and left. I gave a wave in his direction in case he looked in the rear-view mirror. Then I went inside my apartment. I sat on my couch, my hands resting on my kneecaps. After ten minutes of trying not to think about where Lake was going or when he'd be back or what could happen, I started putting away more of my things, unpacking.

It helped.

-0-0-0-

Work at the Red Cross branch was more administrative than I wanted. Desk work, paper-pushing, phone calls—all important, I guess, but I think I got used to my limited time in San Diego with being more hands-on. Even in Nigeria, I physically helped, or tried with those few skills I had. I just didn't feel like I was making a difference in an office setting.

My interest was piqued by the operations that worked in conjunction with the military. That was actually kind of neat. Part of me wondered if I could ever go with the military, part of the Red Cross team to provide relief in war-torn areas, or wherever. It made me think of the team. I'd never really be able to work alongside them. They were the first ones in—or last ones out.

Four days passed quickly enough when I was at work, but the nights were brutal. I cleaned up my apartment and finished setting up everything as I liked it. I told myself to go out, meet new people. Coworkers at the office were actually pretty nice, but I wasn't interested in getting to know them more yet.

I liked Lake a lot. I was starting to love him, I think. But this was torture, waiting for him to come back. I didn't want that. I didn't want anyone else either. Every other guy I'd dated was nothing compared to Lake. His strength and intensity were incredibly sexy; his fierceness in wanting to protect me made my heart race. His calmness and ability to react in danger made me admire him. And, I had to admit, his desire to serve and fight made me respect him too. There was courage in Lake that I'd only ever seen in movies.

I swallowed, my throat swelling up with my emotions. I missed him. My hands swiped at my eyes. I changed into my PJs and went to bed.

-0-0-0-

The weekend was worse; no work. I went shopping. My eyes felt dry from the dust at the stores and all the clothes lint. The patterns of the clothes blended together dizzily. My feet felt heavier as I trudged through the local mall.

I tried to cheer myself up and calm my concerns by picking out a shirt for Lake. Funny enough, everything I saw at American Eagle, Eddie Bauer, Aeropostale, Express, and so on just looked too ridiculously preppy for him. The eternal surfer look from some of those stores didn't work either. I just couldn't see him in any of the things.

I smirked at the Hot Topic store. Maybe that would work. Lake wasn't a goth or grunge guy, but I didn't worry about the preppy look here. Of course, nothing caught my fancy here either. I nodded at the cashier who had a nose ring the size of a quarter at the septum. Lovely.

Of all places, I stopped at GAP, and found a light, light blue button-down shirt. It was kind of a rugged, explorer style. I glanced up at a poster of Wentworth Miller in the same shirt. Hmm. Slowly, I smiled. Lake would look better.

Dinner was a solitary affair, made up of a pita pizza I made. Yum. Not really—it tasted like cardboard. I chucked the pita out, and splurged with a call to Papa John's.

Forty minutes later, I stared at the TV with a slice in hand. The news came on—it was 11 pm already. The local stories weren't any different than I was used to in Ohio or San Diego. I flipped the TV to some movie on cable. Another hour, and I'd get ready for bed.

But my phone rang. I frowned. My parents usually called on Sundays. It was still Saturday, for another half hour.

"Hello?"

There was a long pause before I heard a response. "Hey."

My heart fluttered, and I nearly gasped. "Lake!"

I was on my feet, pacing. I heard him chuckle.

"Miss me?"

"Where are you?" I asked. "Are you all right? Is everyone okay?" I heard more laughter.

"Jane, chill," he said. I rolled my eyes. Easy for him to say. "We're all fine. Just got in."

I grinned. "You're back?" I started looking around for my shoes.

"Yeah."

"Can I come see you?" I asked. Frankly, I don't know if I'd take no for an answer.

"It's late," Lake said. I rolled my eyes again.

"I don't care if it's late!" I found my shoes and threw them on. My keys were on the table. I grabbed them and went to the door.

Standing right outside was Lake, on his cell phone. He smiled teasingly, his dimples showing. I chucked my phone over my shoulder and hugged him tight against me. He chuckled as I held him. His breath was warm and comforting against my neck.

"I missed you too," he said.

Once inside, I took a second to look him over. He looked so tired. His eyes were heavy, and dark circles gave away the fact he probably hadn't slept in awhile. He was clean, but his clothes looked wrinkled—probably pulled straight from his own duffle bag.

I moved around to get him a drink. "You hungry?" I had leftover pizza. Lake shook his head. I handed him the glass. He took it with his left hand. It seemed odd. He was right-handed.

That's when I noticed he was resting his right arm against his body, a little more tender with it than normal. He saw my eyes surveying him.

"It's nothing," he said. "Just a scratch." He smiled proudly. I wondered what happened. He sat down on the couch and shut his eyes briefly with a sigh.

"When did you sleep last?" I asked. He cracked his eyes open and just smiled. "That's what I thought."

"It's worth it," he mumbled. I sat on the edge of the couch, watching him.

"I can't ask you about anything, can I?"

He didn't answer. I settled by him and put my arm around him. I traced his face with my fingertips, just lightly brushing them over his skin. I felt him relax against me. After a few minutes, I heard his breathing deepen.

I watched him as he slept, wondering where he'd gone, what he'd done. I imagined him running through a jungle, leading the others to their mission, whatever it was. Given his 'scratch,' I saw him in combat with men whose faces I couldn't imagine. Obviously, Lake and the team were victorious. I wonder if he really was mildly injured or if he was just humoring me.

Lightly, I ran my hand over his right arm. He didn't stir. I felt bunched-up fabric beneath the shirt. _Gauze._ I moved my hand away. Was it a bullet? A knife? Shrapnel from a bomb?

I closed my eyes, musing at how ridiculous such a thought was. Four months ago, I'd never think about that.

As the clock in my kitchen ticked through the night, I watched Lake sleep against me. The last few days were awful for me, but I was so glad to have Lake back. I figured going forward, as long as he came back, I couldn't be mad at him. I smiled at my flawed logic, but didn't think beyond the possibilities. I rested my head against the couch, nearly touching Lake's head with my own, and slowly, I succumb to the peace and relief I felt.

-0-0-0-

Bacon. I definitely smelled bacon. I opened my eyes, and felt that I was alone on the couch. Lake was in the kitchen, over a pan of said bacon.

"Morning," he said, glancing my way. I smiled.

"I thought you'd sleep longer." I sat up and straightened out my hair, which who knows how that looked. "You were pretty worn out."

He shrugged. "I slept well." He flashed me a smile. Could the man be any more attractive? Remembering my shopping excursion yesterday, I pictured him in the blue shirt I bought. Today, I felt he could wear anything and look sexy.

I got up and grabbed the shirt from the bag in my room.

"What's that?" Lake asked. I smiled like a Cheshire cat.

"Something I thought you might like." I went over to him and held it up beneath his chin. He stood like a mannequin for me to judge properly. I looked to his eyes.

"It brings out your eyes," I said aloud, more to myself than anything.

"My eyes are green."

"Still makes them stand out," I said. I set the shirt on the counter, and turning back, Lake wrapped me in his arms, hugging me. I love that strength there. There's something about Lake that made me feel so safe, so . . . like a woman? I nearly laughed at myself. But everything about him was Man, and I was his.

Maybe I needed more sleep.

"Breakfast's almost ready," he said, kissing me.

"Thanks." I got some juice from the fridge. I turned on the TV, figuring a little background noise never hurt. I flipped around till I found some news, and then turned back to get out some plates.

I didn't really pay attention until I heard "Arthur Azuka."

The news anchor's image cut to footage in Nigeria, and sure enough, Arthur Azuka was standing there.

"_Azuka is taking what many call his rightful place as the leader of Nigeria, after a coup by General Yakubu. Yakubu's assassination less than 48 hours ago sent the country into frenzied disarray, but Azuka and troops loyal to him have already established peaceful control."_

Lake's movement over the stove stilled. I watched him carefully as the anchor continued.

"_Yakubu's assassination is blamed on an internal dispute orchestrated by Colonel Idris Sadick, who in the course of the chaos, also died. While unexpected, UN leaders are expressing new hope for stability in the war-torn region—"_

I think the news moved onto something else, but I tuned it out. There was more to what had happened. I knew first-hand that was always the case. If not, it certainly was convenient that Sadick assassinated Yakubu, and then died afterwards. I looked down at the counter top, smiling to myself. When I looked back up, Lake met my gaze.

I raised the pitcher of juice. "Want some?"

It took him a second to figure out I wasn't going to say anymore. He chuckled to himself, and then nodded.

"Thanks."

Nothing else had to be said. Besides, there were more important things ahead for us.

The End

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a/n: And finally, after taking entirely too long to post this, there it is! Thanks so much to everyone for reading, reviewing, and enduring my often flawed efforts throughout this story. Hopefully it was enjoyable, and hopefully it didn't seem too much like everything else I've written. I re-read something I wrote recently and realized the similarities in my various stories—unintentional, but I guess I have a certain genre I prefer. :o) Anyway, thanks again!


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